The Mentalist: Judge and Jury
by Donnamour1969
Summary: NOW COMPLETE! Patrick Jane is a jury consultant; Teresa Lisbon a prosecutor. They are on different sides, until fate brings them together on a court case involving Red John. Will they risk their hearts and their lives to work together against a dangerous killer? Extreme AU. Romance, drama, suspense. Rated T/M for adult language and content.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Here I am again, having been struck by inspiration to write this new scenario. As with my other AU's, I try to keep these characters in character, despite their change in circumstances. Here you will find Jane, somewhere between his psychic days personality and his post-Red John attitude, though in this case he's never been married or lost anyone he loved to a grisly murder. Lisbon is just Lisbon in a skirt, and you will also find some old supporting characters turning up in new ways. Above all, this is a romance, with an M-rated scene or two along the way, which I promise to warn you about in advance. I hope you enjoy this. Thanks for taking a chance.

 **Judge and Jury**

 **Chapter 1**

Assistant District Attorney Teresa Lisbon stood in the empty courtroom, the morning light streaming in from the high windows, her eyes focused on the statue of Lady Justice behind the judge's bench. On those days when it seemed like nothing was fair, it always helped to remind herself that, despite its flaws, theirs was still the best legal system she knew. She felt some comfort too that if a jury in this life didn't give justice, God would surely mete out His own in the next. Such was unfortunately the risk in the trial that would begin today.

Lisbon touched the gold cross at her neck, took a deep, cleansing breath, and sat down at the prosecutor's table. She opened her briefcase and pulled out the file that she already knew by heart.

 _Sheriff Thomas McAllister._

In _The_ _State v. McAllister_ , the State of California would contend that McAllister had embezzled funds from the Napa County Sheriff's department, as well as taken bribes from a handful of some of the wealthiest arrestees in the county, keeping their offenses quiet and choosing to look the other way. They had caught McAllister red-handed with these reprehensible nonviolent crimes, but Lisbon knew in her heart, along with the head of the California Bureau of Investigation, that this man had done much worse than they could pin on him. But because McAllister was so well-known in Napa County, the media coverage there so biased, the courts had granted a change of venue to Sacramento County to ensure the fairest trial possible. The defense had no reason to fear ADA Teresa Lisbon. This, she hoped, would be their fatal error.

Lisbon's friend at the CBI, Agent Kimball Cho, believed Sheriff McAllister was likely the serial killer Red John, but he had nothing but a gut feeling and circumstantial evidence—not enough to bring charges against the man for murder. But Cho had plenty of evidence from his White Collar division to prosecute on the other charges, so when the venue had changed, he'd come to Lisbon, thinking that if McAllister were convicted, they could at least get the murderer off the streets for a while, saving lives and buying some time to find more evidence against him. After hearing Cho's thoughts and looking at the pictures of the Red John crime scenes, Lisbon was all in.

The soft click of the courtroom door made Lisbon turn in her seat to see who had joined her. Someone else had probably chosen to ignore the notification outside the door that jury selection had been postponed an hour, but, like her, had probably wanted a quiet place to get their bearings before the trial began. But instead of her boss, DA Oswaldo Ardilles, or someone she recognized from the defense team, the man who'd entered was a stranger to her. A very handsome stranger.

The first thing she noticed about him was an inherent grace, a stride reminiscent of Cary Grant in—well, pick any movie he'd been in. And though the stranger's footfalls echoed in the empty courtroom, his feet seemed light with confidence. He wore an expensive three-piece suit sans tie—another indication the man was not a lawyer—and his wavy blond hair was shiny, soft, and expertly coiffed. His high cheekbones and full, chiseled lips would be the envy of male models everywhere, but it was his eyes that made her heart pick up speed. Pale green with a hint of blue, they were alight with humor and mischief, and they had zeroed in on her as he made his way to the front of the room.

"Hello, there," he said, his tone hushed and intimate, and the smile that followed nearly did her in. He was literally breathtaking, and were Lisbon able to recall anything in that moment (let alone breathe), she would remember that no man had ever had such an immediate, visceral effect upon her senses. He took a seat on a padded bench, and, looking around the room, inhaled dramatically.

"Don't you just love the smell of justice in the morning?"

His light sarcasm snapped her out of her momentary daze, and she couldn't help but smile a little, though she forced her voice to sound official, she being an officer of the court and all.

"Did you notice the sign on the door? Jury selection has been pushed back an hour."

"Well that explains the absence of the judge and the dirth of sharks in suits," he said, nodding toward the empty defense table. "No offense."

Lisbon's smile widened in spite of herself. "That's the defense table, so I'll let that one pass."

He grinned back at her, appreciating her good humor, and for a moment, he seemed somehow familiar.

"So if you're not one of the sharks, what are you doing here so early? Reporter maybe?" Her eyes narrowed and she remembered herself. "If you're a witness for the defense, then we shouldn't be talking like-"

"No, none of the above. You might just call me a concerned citizen, here to observe the legal process." His eyes fairly twinkled at some private joke.

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Okay…"

It was probably best that she simply ignored his presence, maybe even left in order to protect herself from whatever role he was playing in this case. But how could one ignore the sensual awareness of such a man, any more than one could be in the same room with Michelangelo's Statue of David and disregard such a masterpiece? She shook her head at her uncharacteristic flight of fancy, and when she got out of her own head and focused on him again, she was mortified to see that he'd been watching her closely, likely seeing every thought and emotion playing across her face. To make matters worse, he grinned knowingly.

Feeling her cheeks grow warm, she cleared her throat to hide her sudden nervousness. "What do you hope to see today, Mr.-?"

"Jane," he supplied readily enough. "But you can call me Patrick." There was that devastating smile again.

 _Damn, but the man could flirt._

"I really have no expectations," he continued. "This justice stuff, it's all just a crap shoot, isn't it? It all comes down to who's on the jury, who's the slickest attorney with the best fairy tell to tell. Justice doesn't amount to a hill of beans anymore—if it ever did."

She shook her head, wondering how he could possibly know she'd just been thinking along similar lines.

"Wow. I'm glad I'm not as cynical as all that. I see your point, however; though I admit I still hold out hope that at least most of the bad guys on trial are rightly convicted. I don't know, Mr. Jane: can one be an optimist and a realist at the same time?"

He looked at her a moment, his eyes softening as they examined her from the top of her dark head to the toes of her sensible pumps. She almost felt like he was touching her physically, and her blood hummed with awareness. His eyes met hers again across the courtroom.

"If anyone could pull off such a contradiction, Miss Lisbon," he answered her at last, "I'm convinced that you could, with admirable grace and...passion."

She was momentarily captured by his gaze, and then it occurred to her that he'd spoken her name. She hadn't told him who she was. Not that it was a secret—she was a public servant. Still, it was just another thing about this man that put her on edge.

"How do you know my name?"

"I read the papers," he replied nonchalantly. "But I have to say, I envy your optimism, I truly do, and I would love to know your secret, after having prosecuted some of the worst characters in society."

How had she stumbled into such a deep conversation with a total stranger? She really should be going over her notes…

"It's not a secret," she said. "It's a _choice_ , and in some cases, a method of survival. You look at studies of survivors of horrible situations, and they all tend to have gotten through by having hope that they would get out of it. People who give up, who believe their future is a negative forgone conclusion—they're the ones least likely to survive."

He grinned in sincere admiration. "You make a good case, Madame Prosecutor," he said. "You have the same optimism you'll win this trial?"

She nodded. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

"The defense had better up its game then, hadn't they. I can already tell it will be an absolute pleasure to watch you in action, Miss Lisbon." By the way he was looking at her, there was no mistaking he'd meant that literally.

Flushing bright pink, she abruptly stood up from her chair, moving jerkily to gather together her papers and files. Feeling herself revert to awkward teenager mode, naturally she dropped a few folders onto the floor. It was like she was in high school all over again, blushing because the quarterback had deigned to notice the band nerd.

"Shit," she muttered, then squatted as best she could in her pencil skirt to gather up her fallen belongings.

She didn't know how he made it to her side so quickly, but before she knew it, she was engulfed in the scent of a woodsy, expensive cologne, equally overpowered by the sensation of his nearness. He picked up a few of the scattered papers from beneath the table, while she hastily gathered the rest. She stood and shoved them into her briefcase. When she snuck a glance at her knight errant, he was still squatting on the floor, an open file in his hand. He was staring, enthralled, at crime scene photos of women eviscerated with a carpet knife.

The sight was enough to bring her back to the present, and she was once more the confident Assistant DA.

"Hey," she said sternly, "those are DA's office property." She reached a hand down to his level expectantly. He looked up at her then, his eyes grave, his face pale after observing the horrors depicted in the pictures.

"Who did this?" he asked softly.

She found she couldn't lie or brush off his question—not about something as serious as this. Her weighted tone matched his.

"Those are just a few of the women killed by the serial killer who calls himself Red John."

He glanced down again, shuddering slightly before almost reverently closing the file he held. He stared a moment at the label on the outside of the file, neatly written in her own hand: _Thomas McAllister._ He rose slowly to his feet, and when he handed the file back to her, he seemed shaken.

"You think McAllister is Red John?"

She took the file and put it with the others in her briefcase. "The sheriff is being charged with embezzlement and bribery," she hedged, though it was no secret within the law enforcement community that McAllister had also been investigated for the murders of twenty women. She was certain the sheriff knew the CBI was watching him.

"That isn't what I asked." He was standing again, unnervingly close to her, about a head taller than her. She imagined she could feel the heat emanating from his lithe body.

She forced herself to shrug, turning away from him to close her briefcase with a snap. "I can't comment on an ongoing investigation."

They were both quiet a moment, and Lisbon briefly closed her eyes, willing him to leave, though frozen herself to the spot.

"Hmm," he said thoughtfully, tapping his full bottom lip.

And then he was walking back the way he'd come, down the center aisle toward the door. "I'll be seeing you, Miss Lisbon," he called wryly. She turned in time to see the door close quietly behind him. She let out the breath she'd been holding, then sat heavily back in her chair.

It was then that she remembered where she'd seen him before.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Patrick Jane found himself outside the courthouse, sitting with his back to the decorative fountain in the tree-lined square, gazing sightlessly at the California State Capitol building in the distance. He allowed the cascading water to help him gather his thoughts. The photos of the bloodied, murdered women had been horrific enough to momentarily take his mind off the intriguing charms of the Assistant DA. He'd seen a similarly mangled body when helping the Malibu Police Department six months before.

It still frustrated him that he hadn't been able to solve the murder of the young woman, found dead in her own bed, a grotesque smiling face dripping blood on the wall above. His one failure had led him out of the world of murder and depravity to the slightly less disheartening arena of jury consulting. But he had never forgotten his failure; indeed, he was still haunted by it.

Could this man whose jury he was about to help pick, be responsible for the girl's death in Malibu? The lovely Teresa Lisbon seemed to think so. It had occurred to him as he walked out of the courtroom that she was trying to get McAllister on the only crimes she could successfully pin him on. But what if the jury decided he was not guilty of embezzlement or bribery? He would be free to go out and kill again. That is, if he _was_ , in fact, Red John.

Jane closed his eyes and raised his face to the east, the late summer sun glowing orange beneath his eyelids. He had not seen any of the DA's evidence that linked McAllister to Red John. Obviously, if Miss Lisbon had had enough proof that McAllister was the serial killer, he'd be on trial for that. He'd have to have more information to make his own decision, and it would start with meeting the man face to face, which he had yet to do.

He glanced down at his Cartier watch, noting there was still about thirty minutes until court was in session. Time enough to make it to the holding area where McAllister waited with his lawyer. Slapping his knees in finality, he stood and trotted back up the steps and into the courthouse.

"Patrick Jane, with the defense team," he said, holding up his ID and visitor's pass for the uniformed guard to see. He was buzzed inside the holding area and led by another officer to a small room reserved for the defendant and his lawyers. At the officer's knock, the lead counsel for the defense, Ray Haffner, answered the door. His eyes widened in surprise.

"Mr. Jane? What can I do for you?"

Jane looked over the tall man's shoulders to see the other attorney on the case, Brett Partridge, who was standing in a corner drinking coffee, and another man Jane knew from newspaper and TV reports was the defendant, Sheriff Thomas McAllister.

"I was hoping to meet the sheriff before jury selection, get an idea of his personality to help me better gauge which jurors would respond the most positively to him." Jane had never needed to do this before, but it sounded like a logical enough excuse the moment the words fell from his mouth.

"Oh, uh, sure. Come in." The handsome attorney stepped aside and nodded toward McAllister. "Sheriff, this is Patrick Jane. He's that jury consultant I told you about."

McAllister rose, clad in an off-the-rack charcoal suit, smiling ironically at the handcuffs that made shaking hands awkward. Nevertheless, Jane clasped the older, balding man's right hand, staring deeply into startlingly blue eyes while surreptitiously feeling the steady pulse at his wrist. The man's hand was dry and warm, his face relaxed, his smile easy. Not at all the normal demeanor, in Jane's experience, of a man about to be go before a judge.

Jane took the chair opposite the sheriff without it being offered.

"So, I've heard you guarantee a favorable verdict," said McAllister.

Jane shrugged. "I've been right so far."

"What are you, psychic or something?"

McAllister's slow, country bumpkin drawl wasn't fooling Jane in the least. There was an undercurrent of danger beneath the guileless grin, an intelligence he was trying very hard to hide.

"Yes," replied Jane. "Something like that. This far north, you might not have seen my local show in LA, but I'm hoping to be syndicated soon."

"So what, you cherry pick juries in your free time?"

"Yes. When I'm not a consultant for the police."

"Huh," remarked McAllister. "Working both side of the fence. Interesting. Hey, Ray, you sure about this guy's loyalty?" He was talking to his attorney, but those disconcerting eyes stayed unwaveringly on Jane's.

"I don't care whether you're innocent or guilty," said Jane, "my job is to keep you out of jail."

"But what do you really think of me, Mr. Jane?" asked the sheriff curiously.

"Odds are, you're guilty. But as I said, I really don't give a damn."

McAllister's eyes fairly sparkled. "Hmph."

"He checks out," Haffner rushed to say, "and he's right about his success rate. He's consulted on about six trials in the last six months, and it's gone favorably for his clients every time. What's even more amazing, he doesn't have need for expensive mock trials or predictive computer programs to pick the winning jurors. He does it all off the top of his head. People are starting to call him the Jury Master."

Haffner's attitude toward his client was oddly deferential—usually it was the other way around because a defendant depended so much on his attorney, let him take the lead.

"Is that so?" said McAllister. "Well I hope his good run doesn't run out on me." There was an unmistakable warning there, and the humor had left the sheriff's eyes.

"You're not really psychic," scoffed Partridge, after taking a sip of his coffee. "You're just good at reading people, like an FBI profiler or something."

"A nonbeliever, eh?" said Jane gamely. "You need some proof?"

Partridge laughed without humor. "Sure. But you'd better make it quick. It's almost showtime."

Jane stood and walked to stand before the gangly, dark-haired man, immediately assessing him as being a whiny, cynical know-it-all. The exact opposite of the stunning Miss Lisbon, came the wayward thought.

"I know what you're thinking," Jane said, making his voice go low and mysterious, like he did on his show when he pretended to read the minds of his audience members.

"Oh, really?" Partridge said, in unison with Jane.

And then Jane proceeded to say the exact same words Partridge uttered at the exact same time he spoke them. At least ten sentences worth.

"Ok, stop, stop!" exclaimed Partridge (and Jane).

Jane stopped, putting the man out of his misery.

McAllister chuckled, as did Haffner, and Partridge went back to his corner to sulk in annoyance.

"Well, I'm convinced," said the sheriff.

"Just a cheap party trick," said Partridge (and Jane also, for good measure, and because it gave him pleasure to tweak the irksome twit a little more).

Haffner checked his watch just as the officer knocked on the holding room door.

"Did you get what you needed?" Haffner asked Jane.

Jane nodded, looking back at the sheriff. "More than enough."

"Time to go," said the officer through the door. Haffner opened it, and the officer came in to escort the defendant into the courtroom.

Jane took up the rear, his mind working furiously. Sheriff McAllister had all the characteristics of a psychopath, and it seemed to Jane that he was more than capable of committing murder. Even if he wasn't Red John, he had no doubt the man was guilty of the crimes he was accused of today.

As they entered the courtroom, and the defendant and his two attorneys were ensconced at the defense table, Jane caught Teresa Lisbon. Beside her was a lovely young redhead, another attorney for the prosecution. He caught Lisbon's eye and she frowned at him, and he realized she had figured out who he was. He gave her a wink for good measure, delighting at her immediate blush, and took his seat in the gallery directly behind the rest of his team.

Judge Louisa Marks came in and everyone rose, then sat again at the sound of her gavel. Then, one by one, the potential jurors were called in by name, taking their chairs in preparation for the attorneys' _voir dire_ questions. Jane's eyes were drawn to the back of Teresa Lisbon's head, noting how her dark hair hung in soft waves to her shoulders. Then he recalled the dark, blood-matted hair of Lorelei Martins, Red John's victim in Malibu, and his heart clenched painfully.

As Teresa Lisbon stood at the podium to question the first juror, Patrick Jane suddenly knew what he had to do.

 **A/N: Thanks for reading this first chapter! I would love to hear your thoughts so far.**


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing. It's such a lovely re-welcome to the fandom. I hope you enjoy this next installment.

 **Chapter 2**

The first day of jury selection was a long one. Only six jurors were selected by the end of it, leaving six more and two alternates to go. Jane's idea to fix the jury against McAllister was a dangerous one, requiring a delicate, nuanced approach. Armed with questionnaires the prospective jurors had filled out beforehand, Jane strove to pinpoint those men and women most likely to think McAllister guilty. The real trick was not arousing the suspicions of Haffner and McAllister or that mealy-mouthed Partridge. After each person was called forward to be questioned, Haffner would glance at Jane, who, with a slight nod or shake of his head, would signal whether that juror should be retained for trial. So far, none of the defense team seemed to doubt him. Jane was counting on his reputation as the Jury Master, and so far, they weren't questioning his picks.

Of course, ADA Lisbon had her own questions for jurors, and for the most part, she chose wisely. One man, however, Jane had his doubts about, one who Jane had deduced from the questionnaire had been accused himself of a financial crime. This would not bode well for the prosecution, and it would only take one juror to ruin the whole plan, and Red John would be free to kill again. It occurred to Jane that for this to truly work, he needed to tell Miss Lisbon what he was up to. This was an even bigger gamble, but he knew in his gut that she might be willing to bend her devotion to the law this once for the sake of true justice. It would all depend on his approach.

It amused Jane to no end that she pointedly ignored looking at him throughout the day. She was still annoyed with him for withholding his identity that morning, but he wondered if her coldness was more to do with the obvious attraction between them. Not looking at him had been a form of self-preservation. He could have sworn she trembled at his nearness, and he couldn't deny his own pulse had gone a little haywire when he'd smelled the soft orange blossom scent of her hair, seen her beautiful green eyes up close. This mutual attraction was something he could definitely work with.

After court was in recess for the evening, Jane spoke to Haffner, expressing satisfaction with the way the jury was stacking up so far. He instilled as much confidence as he could in his pronouncement, trying his best to give no hint of the way he was sabotaging their case. He said his goodbyes, with the enthusiastic promise that the next day would be even better.

He waited in the parking garage for Teresa Lisbon, keeping his distance in the shadows. She and the other gorgeous redheaded prosecutor parted ways (he'd discovered in court her name was Grace Van Pelt). Fortunately, his Citroen was parked near Lisbon's sexy little Mustang, and he watched with appreciation as her skirt slid up to her thighs as she settled into her seat and shut the door. The moment she pulled out of her space, he jogged to his own car and followed her to the District Attorney's office. After an hour or two there, during which time he dozed in his car behind a tree, she came out and drove to a nearby pub called O'Malley's. Apparently the lovely ADA had a fondness for drinks after work.

He parked on the street, waiting for her to go inside the tavern before making his way around to the alley. His luck held, and he was able to sneak in the back door when a waitress tossed a trash bag in the dumpster. He found a dark corner booth, where he could unobtrusively watch Miss Lisbon at the bar. By the time he sat down, she was already in a serious conversation with a stocky Asian man. The bartender filled two glasses with scotch and set them on the bar in front of them.

Jane's eyes narrowed, wondering who the man was to her. Absently, he placed his order with the waitress—a Bloody Mary—and decided with a relief that surprised him that the pair were merely colleagues. After their initial somberness, and after their first drink, they both loosened up, and he was even gifted with one of her dimpled smiles—or her companion was, he thought with envy. They were friends too, he surmised, but not close ones, and he noted with interest that the man paid for their drinks. After another drink, she patted the man's muscled arm in farewell, and moved toward the exit.

Jane followed her outside at a safe distance. When she got halfway to her car, he spoke her name. She turned around suddenly, her hand going for her shoulder bag. By the way she clutched it, he had no doubt she was packing mace, possibly even a gun. He held up his hands automatically, palms out.

"Hey, don't shoot! It's just me, Patrick Jane."

Her hold on her bag didn't loosen, her face tight with suspicion. "You following me?"

"Yeah," he replied, taking a tentative step closer. "But not in a stalkerish way, I promise."

She didn't seem convinced. He smiled gently, as if approaching a wild deer. "I really need to talk to you about something. It's important—to both of us."

"That wouldn't be appropriate," she said coldly. "People might get the wrong idea." At her own words, she glanced hastily around the outdoor lot. They were alone, except for the passing street traffic.

"True," he conceded. "You want to go back inside then? Or maybe someplace quieter—but public, of course," he hastened to add. He took another few steps toward her.

"What about?"

"Red John."

That startled her, but only her eyes briefly gave it away. "I remembered where I've seen you before," she said, changing the subject. "I was in LA a couple months ago for a conference. I saw an ad on local TV for your psychic show. Then later, I think I actually saw your face on the side of a city bus." She sounded more derisive than impressed.

"Did you get a chance to sit on my face?"

"Wh—what?"

He grinned at her. "On a bus stop bench. That one's my particular favorite."

Her lips quirked in amusement despite herself. "No, I didn't have the plea—uh, the _experience_."

His grin widened at her near-slip and the resulting blush.

"What do you want, Mr. Jane?" she asked, all business now. He was beginning to see that this was her fallback position whenever she felt uncomfortable.

"Several months ago, I worked on a Red John murder in Malibu."

She was momentarily surprised, then she nodded. "When you were consulting with the police."

"Ah, so you Googled me, did you?"

She ignored his teasing tone. "I read you worked with Malibu PD, but I didn't see which specific case."

"Probably because I couldn't solve it. But this morning, when I saw those pictures, saw McAllister's name on the file, I looked at him more closely." He took a breath, then let it out with his next words. "It's him, or at the very least, he fits the behavioral profile. And I'm betting whoever you have investigating this, they have been able to put him in the vicinity of the murders, have gathered other evidence, but there's not enough definitive proof to arrest him. Am I right?"

She hesitated. Miss Obey The Rules still wasn't going to discuss an ongoing investigation.

"Look," he reasoned, "one phone call to Malibu and you can find out I was working on the murder of Lorelei Martins. When I couldn't come up with a suspect after a few weeks, the police pushed me out of the investigation, and wouldn't give me access to information on the other murders. I guess they were embarrassed that they'd looked to a psychic for help and I failed. I've tried to get this out of my mind, to focus on this new side job of mine, but sometimes I—I dream about her. More like nightmares, really. You've seen those pictures…"

Her expression was grim. "Yeah, I have. And I've been to a few crime scenes myself." Jane could tell the grisly murders haunted her too.

"Then you can understand why I want to help you. I _can_ help you."

"It's not me that you should help with this," she said. "Not that I believe in psychics or anything. But I have a friend in the CBI—"

"And maybe they could get me access to those other murder files. But that's not what I mean. I know what you're trying to do now with McAllister. You got him on some minor felonies that his high dollar lawyers will keep him from serving too much time for, but in the meantime, you buy time to gather more evidence against him, maybe prevent another murder or two. And I'm here to offer my services to help make that happen."

She stared into his eyes in the fading light, and he hoped his earnestness was making enough of an impact on her.

"Are you wearing a wire?" she asked suddenly.

"What?"

"I shouldn't be talking about this with you, Mr. Jane." She looked around them again, aware of what this extended conversation might look like to the wrong people. "Good night." She turned and began walking purposefully toward her car.

He couldn't let her go like this, not when he could see her wavering. He caught up with her in a few quick strides, gently taking her arm. She stiffened in surprise, her other hand going automatically to her purse again.

"Please, Teresa. This isn't a setup, I swear." Then he smiled wickedly. "You're more than welcome to pat me down."

She met his eyes, closer than she had ever been before. Jane felt a jolt of heat where he touched her warm, firm arm, felt the impact of her deep green gaze all the way to his groin. He had the insane urge to kiss her waiting mouth, saw her eyes soften with mirrored desire.

"Everything okay here?" came a deep voice behind them. Jane let go of her arm at once and Lisbon jumped hastily away.

"Yeah." She tore her eyes from Jane to look at the man she'd spoken to in the pub. "Everything's fine."

Up close, the man was even more imposing, Jane thought, despite his shorter stature. His biceps beneath his short-sleeved shirt were like tree trunks, and he exhibited an air of restrained power, a man with the sort of confidence that instilled instant respect. A military background, he guessed, and probably in law enforcement now. Her "friend" in the CBI?

"Patrick Jane," he introduced himself. "Miss Lisbon and I know each other from court." He held out a hand, but the man ignored it. Once again, Jane admired his courtesy toward Lisbon, putting himself between her and Jane, hesitant to make nice until he knew the score.

"You're the jury consultant for the defense," said the man. "I saw you in court today.

Jane frowned. "I didn't see you."

The man said nothing, his face impassive, and Jane surmised he'd been sitting in the back of the room, had slipped out unobtrusively before Jane could see him. He was good at what he did.

"You must be Miss Lisbon's friend from the CBI," Jane ventured, and the man stole a quick glance at Lisbon, but was still not forthcoming.

Lisbon sighed, hating the building tension between the two men. "This is Agent Kimball Cho," she supplied. "Now, if you wouldn't mind, I need to get home and prepare for tomorrow."

"What do you want with her?" asked Cho suspiciously, still focused on Jane as a possible threat. "You shouldn't be here."

Jane made a quick decision based entirely on instinct. Agent Cho likely knew everything there was to know about Red John, and probably wanted to nail the killer even more than Jane did. He'd venture it was partly Cho's idea to get McAllister off the streets with these lightweight charges.

"I can ensure McAllister gets convicted," he said meaningfully. "And no one will ever be able to prove how."

Lisbon blanched at his bluntness, and she looked at Cho, his face blank, save for the barely perceptible widening of his dark eyes. To her surrpise, he nodded. "Let's go somewhere we can talk."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon was actually shaking when she got into her car, Jane beside her in the front, Cho sitting in the backseat. She shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't even be _contemplating_ doing this. This could mean her career, her license; maybe even her freedom.

They parked in a lot facing the Sacramento River. The residual colors of the sunset were beautiful: a swirl of purple, pink and gold. Tower Bridge rose majestically in the distance. On the river walkway, joggers and dog walkers enjoyed the relative coolness of the early evening. She turned off the engine and rolled down the windows. Patrick Jane's cologne filled her nostrils, and she tried not to let his nearness addle her brain any more than it already had. It _must_ be somewhat addled, for her to even agree to continue this ludicrous conversation.

"What you're suggesting is jury tampering," she said, breaking the silence. "Not to mention collusion. We could all go to jail."

"Hypothetically, how would you do it?" asked Cho. Before they'd left O'Malley's parking lot, Cho had insisted on frisking him for weapons or a wire. He'd made him turn off his cell phone. Jane couldn't help being a little disappointed that Lisbon had done the job. The idea of her hands moving all over his body…

"I've already started," said Jane, pushing away his wayward thoughts. "The first five jurors will lean toward the State, uh _hypothetically_. I figured Miss Lisbon would have a good handle on the others, but her sixth pick today has me concerned. That's why I approached her."

"He's good," Lisbon said, meeting Cho's eyes in the rearview mirror. "I checked. His clients haven't lost a case."

"McAllister's attorneys won't see through what you're doing?" Cho asked.

Jane looked behind him over the seat. "No," he asserted with finality. Then he turned again to Lisbon. "Just give me the word and I'll tell you which jurors you should pick next. During the trial, I'll be able to help you focus on how to present your case to them to your best advantage. I'll be watching how they react to both sides, what resonates with them against McAllister so you can adjust your tactics accordingly."

"I'm not sure I _need_ your help, Mr. Jane. I know how to win cases," Lisbon said defensively.

"I know." Then Jane smiled. "I Googled you too. But is this really something you want to leave to chance?"

"No way you can be totally sure no matter how you stack the jury in our favor," she countered. "What you do is guesswork, not an exact science. It only takes one juror to have a reasonable doubt, and then McAllister's free."

Cho had been quiet, listening to their debate. The fact that they were discussing this right now, hypothetically or not, could already be grounds for a mistrial. But the way Cho figured it, it was worth losing his job to keep this murderer from killing again. Still, he needed to do some Googling for himself, not to mention a peak into state and federal databases.

"I need to sleep on this," Cho said to Jane, "before I decide whether to arrest you for jury tampering."

"Hypothetically speaking?"

"No."

Jane glanced over his shoulder and grinned. He liked this guy.

"What about you, Teresa? Will you be thinking about me tonight?"

There was no safe way to answer that question, so she didn't take the bait. "If you mean will I need to consider the risks in this harebrained idea? Yeah."

"Okay, then. Give it some thought. Check me out. But one thing you already know about me is that just by talking to you two, I'm willing to risk going to jail myself to do what needs to be done. I'm telling you now, unless you catch McAllister in the act, he's going to continue to kill. He's addicted to it, to the control, to the blood. He gets off knowing he has the police chasing their tails—no offense. Also, I can tell by the way his attorneys kowtow to him that he's got some power and influence, probably beyond just being a county sheriff. That might be another angle you look into by the way, Agent Cho. But these small potatoes charges may be the only thing you ever get him on, and dollars to doughnuts he won't be making that mistake again. Like it or not, I may be the only one capable of putting this bastard away—at least for now. Let's get him convicted, then clue me in on the rest of your investigation, and maybe I can see some connections you haven't."

"Through your psychic abilities?" Lisbon couldn't resist mocking him. She considered it payment for all the innuendo he'd been throwing her way.

"If you want to call it that," he conceded. "But what's made me successful is that I'm a good listener, an excellent study of human behavior, and above all, I pay attention. I can get a conviction for you, but I can't do it by myself."

After his speech, they sat in the Mustang in silence, his last words ringing in their ears. Despite the evening air, it was starting to get hot in the car, and soon Lisbon re-started the engine, rolling up the windows as the air conditioner kicked in. She drove back to O'Malley's and pulled up beside Cho's car.

"I'll call you," he said to Lisbon, before getting out.

"Nice meeting you, Kimball," Jane called, but either the agent didn't hear him, or, more likely, chose to ignore him.

Alone with Jane, she asked where he was parked. He pointed to his Citroen a little way down the busy street. Much to his amusement, she didn't make any move to drive him there, but waited impatiently for him to get out of her car. By then it had grown darker, the lights from the dashboard now fully illuminated. She couldn't believe his audacity when she felt him take her hand across the center console. She immediately tried to tug it from his grip, but he squeezed it firmly.

"I know I'm asking a lot of you," he said softly, "but I promise, you can trust me." His eyes and his voice were soothing, compelling, almost…hypnotic. She felt a little dazed as she looked at him, the dim orange light burnishing his hair, his eyes shadowed and mysterious. Her hand relaxed in his, and she watched as if from a distance as he brought her knuckles to his mouth in a courtly gesture. His lips were warm and firm upon her skin, and her stomach did a little flip.

"Call me tonight when you decide," he said, and when he pulled his hand away, his card had magically appeared in her palm. She sat and watched him walk in his graceful, carefree way back toward his car, her heart pounding, her knuckles still burning from his kiss.

 **A/N: Thanks for reading. More soon :)**


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I really appreciate your lovely reviews. Hope you like this next chapter, a little later than planned, but there was this little show on last night I couldn't miss—you know, the one with the zombie dragon? Enjoy :)

 **Chapter 3**

Lisbon made a quick stop at a convenience store, then drove home to a ten-story apartment building. Her apartment was nothing special, just very functional and practical, on the eighth floor, and a quick commuting distance from the DA's office. The furnishings were all understated but well made, the color palate earth tones with few personal touches. Her life was her work, and this apartment was just a place to sleep, to eat (occasionally) and to shower.

Her one indulgence was a king size, four-poster bed, owing to her childhood love of the fairy tale, "The Princess and the Pea." The mattress was so high, she even needed steps to climb in, which she happily looked forward to doing each night, further luxuriating in the highest thread count Egyptian cotton sheets she could and a goose down comforter within a silk duvet, light as air, but exceedingly comfortable in all seasons. Though some who knew her might be surprised at the extravagance, Lisbon felt strongly that a good night's sleep was priceless. It was her haven after a maddening day, where she could relax, read, and feel just a little bit like that princess in the story. Of course, the _pea_ in her mattress was the fact that she had the giant bed completely to herself, and as much as she tried to tell herself her work filled the void, she was often lonely, and the occasional short-lived affairs with other overworked attorneys only staved off the emptiness for a little while.

This night, however, as she lay in her bed after a hot shower absently applying her body lotion, her thoughts were filled with images of Patrick Jane. She flushed anew as she relived the moment his mouth had touched her skin, and unconsciously she rubbed extra moisturizer into that very knuckle. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had such a strong reaction to a man, the awareness between them enough to distract her from her job. Even in the courtroom, she never forgot that he was sitting just a few feet away beyond the defense table, and she wondered if he'd been right about that last juror she'd selected. Had his presence so put her off her game that she'd overlooked something? She shuddered to think it had. And this plan of his, that would put her career at risk, and maybe even the lives of others, well that was even more dangerous to contemplate.

But before her shower she'd spent a good hour on the phone with Cho, each of them similar in their approach to the sanctity of the law. But they were both well aware that sometimes the law failed, and from what they knew of cases against public figures like McAllister, he was more likely to go free with a slap on the wrist than to serve a minute in jail. A jury they could count on could mean all the difference in those odds. The more she and Cho spoke, the more they examined the pros and cons, the more they came to the mutual conclusion that it could be done without consequences to them if it was done right, but that they were willing to risk their careers if they never had to see another mutilated body again.

With that decided, she took her earlier purchase from the convenience store where she'd left it on her bedside table along with Patrick Jane's business card. She'd bought a cheap burner phone, figuring that if she'd decided to call Jane, it was best not to use her own. She stared at his card in amusement.

 _Patrick Jane_

 _Spiritual Advisor. Psychic Medium_.

Apparently he hadn't gotten around to adding _Jury Consultant_ to his list of services, she thought, not to mention _Dangerous Distraction to Womankind._ Her lips twisted wryly at her own joke. With a sigh and a pulse that picked up speed annoyingly, she punched in the number on his card. It took three rings for him to answer, and when he did, his voice was sensually roughened with sleep. She glanced at the digital clock. It was only ten. She frowned.

"Mr. Jane. This is Teresa Lisbon. Sorry if I woke you-"

"No, no. That's okay. I was just catching a cat nap. I hadn't gotten much sleep last night. This hotel bed feels like it's filled with rocks—and don't get me started on the sandpaper sheets..."

"Uh, okay." _Too much information_ , she thought. _Way_ too much, for a vision came unbidden of him in bed, his perfectly tamed curls wildly disheveled by her fingertips, his chest bare and golden from the Southern California sun, his firm mouth swollen and stained by her lipstick…She swallowed hard and shook her head to clear it, tuning in belatedly after he resumed speaking.

"…so I assume you've made a decision about tomorrow?"

"Yes. Cho and I talked. It's a go. We batted around some ideas, but since this is your rodeo, I thought I'd wait to hear what you might have planned."

"I appreciate your confidence in my abilities, Teresa," he said, his low tone of amusement humming through her body. Was everything he said a double entendre, or did he just have that effect on her? "I'm still going over the questionnaires from tomorrow's prospective jurors, and I thought the best idea was for both of us to use burner phones. Put yours on vibrate and keep it in your pocket. I'll send you a text only if you shouldn't pick a certain juror."

"What will you text?"

"Something innocuous, untraceable to me or our situation. But it doesn't matter. You won't even have to look at your phone; just feel the vibration to know who not to pick."

The plan was simple and sound, and would keep them from any direct communication or suspicious exchange of looks. Afterwards, they could throw the phones away.

"I guess I can work with that," she agreed.

"During the trial, we can develop some other way to communicate when I think you should change tactics to please the jurors."

This was not something she'd considered. "Now wait a minute," she said, "your job is just to help with selecting the jury. We didn't say anything about the rest of the trial. I think I can handle that. My record as a prosecutor is nothing to sneeze at."

"And I'm certainly not sneezing," he said, sounding like he was trying not to laugh at her. "Trust me, there's not a Kleenex in sight. But as a jury consultant, I advise my clients the duration of the trial. I watch how the jurors react to the witnesses, or to certain lines of questioning by the attorneys. They modify their strategies accordingly. Surely you know how it's done. I figured I'd do the same for you."

Her jaw tightened in irritation. "You don't think I can get a conviction on my own?"

"If you were one-hundred percent certain you could, Teresa, why did you call me?"

He had a point. Still, she was never one to be micromanaged, and she knew she was a pretty damn good prosecutor. She'd always been confident in her abilities, and to have her skills questioned at this point in her career seemed like a slap in the face.

"Honestly, it's nothing personal," he continued. "Don't get all huffy about it. We're on the same side here, and we agreed that stacking the deck in our favor was the best path to a conviction."

"I'm not getting huffy," she said huffily. "I just don't like the idea of some _spiritual advisor_ telling me how to do my job."

His silence told her she'd made a direct hit, and she found that she was immediately sorry that she'd offended him. But dammit, this wasn't a TV show, and as far as she knew he didn't have a law license hanging on the wall in his trailer.

"You're right," he said after a moment, the warmth having left his voice. "You're the expert here. I'll bow to your judgement. But the offer is open should you change your mind."

"I won't," Lisbon said. She hated his businesslike tone, though earlier she'd actually longed for it. She felt suddenly like she'd lost something important, and an inexplicable sadness washed over her.

"I'll take care of getting the burner phones," he told her.

"Just get one for yourself. I'm using one now."

"Ah, how very prudent of you. I'll see you tomorrow."

But for some reason she couldn't leave things like this between them.

"Mr. Jane," she began tentatively. "Thank you for your help. And you're right; I wouldn't have called you if I didn't believe—"

"Think nothing of it, Miss Lisbon. I have no delusions of what I am, but neither do I doubt my abilities. Despite my unconventional occupation back in LA, I get results, and I've been proven right time and again. Thomas McAllister is a monster, and I don't care how he gets put down, or who gets the credit for it. I suspect you feel the same."

"I do," she admitted. "That's all I've wanted since I saw those dead girls." Her eyes grew misty. When he spoke again, his voice had taken on the timbre that had earlier given her chills and forbidden thoughts.

"Get some rest, Teresa," he said gently. "But if you have a hard time falling asleep, think about how great you'll feel when Red John is strapped to the executioner's table. That's what I'll be imagining, and I plan to sleep like a baby, even if I'm not beneath Egyptian cotton and goose down."

"How did you-?"

He chuckled softly. "You seem like a woman who enjoys her creature comforts…especially in the bedroom."

 _No double meaning in that_ , she thought dryly, feeling warm all over. Maybe she was setting the women's movement back a hundred years, but secretly, she preferred him flirtatious rather than morose.

"Good night, Teresa," he said to her stunned silence. He hung up before she could summon a proper reply.

That night, it definitely wasn't visions of a serial killer's execution that lulled her to sleep. It was the remembrance of a sensual voice whispering in her ear.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jury selection day two went just as planned. The phone in her suit jacket pocket had vibrated mutely three times, two of which she had already nixed the juror in her own mind anyway. She wondered in the middle of it if he was really helping them after all, if it was worth the possible implication of collusion. Then came buzz number three. When she seemed to hesitate in dismissing the outspoken older man out of hand, Jane texted insistently once more, and she almost reluctantly asked the judge to excuse her. By the end of the day, the entire jury and alternates were seated, and the trial would officially begin the next morning. She sat down in relief next to Grace Van Pelt at the prosecution's table. Cho had thought it best not to make an appearance at all.

"Boy," Van Pelt whispered, "someone was sure texting you today."

Lisbon froze, searching for a way to cover herself. "I forgot to turn off my phone, and I couldn't pull it out in front of the judge. It was probably one of my brothers in Chicago. They forget all the time that I might be in court in the middle of the day."

Van Pelt smiled. "I know what you mean. It never fails. After I've been in court all day, there's always at least two voice mails from my mom."

"That's family for you," Lisbon commiserated, relieved.

"Your opening statement ready yet?" asked the younger woman, as they gathered up notepads and messenger bags.

"I just need to polish it up a bit." Van Pelt glanced over at the defense table, and accidentally caught the eye of McAllister. She looked quickly away with a shiver, her face pale. Lisbon paused, a file folder in hand. "What's wrong?"

"McAllister was staring at me. That bastard gives me the creeps."

Lisbon looked up in time to see the defendant escorted out by the bailiff and his two lawyers. She had never told her coworker about her suspicions about McAllister's other identity. This was a theory she'd discussed only with Cho and now Patrick Jane, but Grace's instincts only reinforced Lisbon's own beliefs. Van Pelt might not know it, but she'd just had a bad feeling about a serial killer.

Then, Lisbon met the blue-green gaze of Patrick Jane across the room, and she had to force herself to look hastily away. She felt her cheeks flush and her heart sputter, then pound. He nodded at her almost imperceptibly, and as he disappeared into the holding area with his client, she jumped at another gentle vibration in her pocket.

"I'll see you back at the office," she told Van Pelt, before taking her seat again and taking out her burner phone in the rapidly emptying courtroom. She opened the texts, all from a number marked _unknown_. She thumbed through them to the first she'd received that day.

 _I love to watch your mouth when you speak._

Her pulse rate soared. "Are you kidding me?" she whispered to herself. He'd said he'd text something, and she figured it would be something innocent and impersonal, like a frowning emoji or something. With a mixture of dread and excitement, she scrolled down to the next text.

 _That color looks incredible on you._

She looked down automatically at the emerald green shell she wore beneath her cream-colored jacket.

 _Is your hair as silky as it looks?_

Her hand came up to touch her hair self-consciously. Dear Lord, but he had nerve.

 _I'm betting your favorite ice cream is rocky road._

What the hell? He happened to be right, but what the hell?

 _Bravo._

That's what he'd just texted her, after he'd left the courtroom. She was glad he was pleased, but the guilt she felt at having cheated the justice system overwhelmed the pleasure she took at his approval. She hadn't expected to feel that way, but what was done was done. The first step on that slippery slope was behind her. She just had to keep going without falling on her ass.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon sat at the desk in her spare room that doubled as both a guest bedroom when one of her brothers visited, and an office. Dressed now in her favorite yoga pants and a Chicago State University t-shirt, she read her opening statement on her laptop for what must have been the hundredth time, obsessing over word choices, adding emphasis, only to remove it again. This jury might be handpicked to be on the State's side, but she still had to make sure she won them over, that they could see she knew what she was doing. She sighed and rubbed her eyes, contemplating whether she should make coffee this late.

A faint buzz suddenly emitted from the suit jacket she had draped over the back of her chair. Her burner phone; she had forgotten to throw it away. She fished it out of the pocket and looked at the text.

 _Roof._

Was he barking at her now? Then she frowned. "No," she said aloud. "He wouldn't dare." She tapped out three characters, all caps.

 _NO._

A moment later, he replied: _Please? It's important._

"Shit," she muttered, then, grabbing her keys and slipping on her running shoes, she peaked out of her apartment door. No one was in the hall, so she slipped nervously out to the stairwell and trotted up the three flights of stairs to the roof. Sometimes the building's tenants held parties on the roof, but you needed your apartment key to get up there. She wondered how Jane had managed that.

It was dark save for the lights of the surrounding city, and she didn't see him until he walked from the shadows and stood by the cement safety wall near the edge of the building.

"You shouldn't be here," she hissed without preamble. "Someone might see you and everything will be blown." She had to walk past lawn chairs and a plastic child's swimming pool to stand near him.

"I probably shouldn't have," he agreed, all mysterious grin and blonde curls. He was still wearing his suit from earlier, and the light breeze from the nearby river tousled his hair, reminding her of her recent fantasy. Then, from behind his back he presented a white paper sack in one hand, a pair of plastic spoons in the other. "But I brought ice cream."

"That's what was so damned important that you would-"

"It's Fenton's," he tempted, eyes glittering with mischief. She only hesitated a beat.

"Give me a goddamned spoon."

 **A/N: More soon. Thanks for reading.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks to those who are still reading and reviewing. Hope my American friends are enjoying their Labor Day. Here's a bit of romance to fill some of that free time.**

 **Chapter 4**

As they sat in lawn chairs on Lisbon's rooftop, their heads tantalizingly close as they shared the quart of rocky road, Jane wondered what the hell he was doing there. _Really_ doing there. He should have been anywhere else, not putting both their careers in jeopardy, but somehow, he couldn't stay away.

Impulsively, he'd bought her favorite flavor and waited for her on her rooftop, like an adolescent trying to impress a girl way out of his league. He tried desperately to come up with a good explanation for his presence before the initial feeding frenzy died down and the carton was empty. Soon, she'd be after him for answers.

He couldn't exactly admit that he was there because he couldn't stop thinking about her, that he enjoyed teasing her and had the oddly tender desire to smooth away the lines that appeared between her brows when she was annoyed, or kiss the dimples that accompanied one of her rare smiles. Because that would just be too premature, too well, _weird_.

When Lisbon had had her fill of ice cream, she sat back in her chair and gave a moan of satisfaction Jane felt in his groin. He found he was suddenly full too, and set the nearly empty container on the pavement beside him. His hand only trembled a little. He sat in his own chair, and he happened to see an outlet in the wall, two extension cords lying unplugged beside them. Curiously, he reached down and plugged them in. They were immediately bathed in the glow of hundreds of little white lights.

"Oh, I'd forgotten about those," she said, charmed how the area was transformed into a fairyland. Then she patted her stomach guiltily. "God, it's been so long since I had Fenton's ice cream. That was amazing." She turned her head on the chair back to look directly at him. "But good as it was, it wasn't worth the dangerous risk you took coming here."

"Well, ice cream wasn't the _only_ reason," he said. "I uh, came to critique your opening statement." There, that sounded plausible enough.

"What?" she said, and he could have sworn the ambient temperature dropped fifty degrees.

"As much as I enjoy how lovely you look when you're angry, let's skip the arguing part and jump to the point where you see that I'm still just trying to help you."

She continued to stare coldly, which, in her defense, was actually pretty damn effective. It made him feel like a kid in the principal's office.

"Look," he continued, "we both know what you say in your opening will set the tone for the entire prosecution, but it will also be your chance to introduce yourself to the jury. I may not know the law, but I do know human behavior. I can predict by what you say and, more importantly, how you act, what the jury will think of you. You want them to like you, to be on your side. Sometimes that decides a case even more than the facts. Based on my studies of these jurors, I can help you with that."

She shook her head and sighed, and he glimpsed the tiredness lurking just below the surface. She relented.

"Fine. I'll just go get my laptop…" She moved to leave, but he stayed her with a warm hand on her bare arm. That instant jolt he felt was still very disconcerting, but he resisted the urge to let go, embracing the power of it. He gave a nod of encouragement.

"No, say it now; I'm sure you know it by heart. Just stand and deliver, Miss Lisbon."

She rose then and he reluctantly dropped his hand. It still tingled a little.

"All right. Give me a second." She shook out her arms and rolled her shoulders, loudly blew air out of her lungs, like a boxer about to enter the ring. In the ethereal glow from the fairy lights, accompanied by the distant sounds of traffic, she began her speech. She'd only said two sentences when he interrupted her.

"What will you be wearing tomorrow?" He stood up from his lawn chair and walked over to her.

"Huh? I don't know. A pantsuit?"

"No no no. You need to wear a skirt, preferably above the knee, but nothing slutty. Wear some nice pumps—not too high of a heel. By all means, wear your hair down. And your blouse should be a jewel tone and have buttons, unbuttoned to about…here." His finger touched her chest just above her cleavage. She gasped and took a step back.

"What the hell? I'm not whoring my way to a conviction, Mr. Jane."

"And I'm not asking you to. You want to seem open and attractive; so smile, make a joke where appropriate. And keep in mind a majority of the jury is male, though you don't want to turn off the women either. It's a fine line. I know that's not a politically correct approach, but to hell with that. This is life or death, Teresa."

She shook her head at him in disbelief of his gall; then, unexpectedly, she grinned.

"Okay, Professor Higgins, if you'll let me continue my statement, I'll try to pronounce my _h_ 's correctly for you."

He smiled back at her, then motioned for her to continue as he sat again in a decidedly Higgins-like manner.

Lisbon lost count of how many times she repeated her ten-minute speech, mainly because he stopped her often, gave what he insisted innocently were merely suggestions for her improvement: "Look directly at the jury; walk over to stand close to them…Cut down on the hand gestures…Smile more—don't forget to wear lipstick to draw attention to your mouth. But definitely not red. Maybe a coral or pale pink."

Her eyebrows shot up at this, but as promised, she didn't argue.

When he finally seemed satisfied, she was gifted with his enthusiastic applause and even a two finger whistle of appreciation. "By George, I think she's got it," he exclaimed. He got up from his chair and walked happily to stand before her. She tried to frown, but she was secretly pleased with herself, and she had to admit her speech was much improved by his suggestions.

"If you expect me to burst into a rousing rendition of _The Rain in Spain_ —"

While she spoke, his hands had encircled her upper arms, and he'd bent as if to give her a smacking kiss on the forehead. But his aim had been off by a good three inches, for at the last instant he lowered his head and took her mouth instead. Her open lips allowed his hot, wet tongue to slip immediately inside, and at first her senses were too overwhelmed to register what was happening. His passion soon awakened hers, however, and a desperation and excitement like she had never known spurred her into action. His hands had come up to rest on either of her cheeks before sweeping into her hair, and he tilted her head almost roughly to further deepen the kiss. He tasted of chocolate and something else—rich, sweet, forbidden.

She found she couldn't get close enough to him, her own arms encircling his body beneath his suit jacket, feeling the lean muscles of his back beneath his expensive shirt, while her heart pounded in her ears and she heard a soft moan arise from deep in his throat. She didn't know long they kissed, but a lack of oxygen was starting to become an issue when he finally raised his head. She gasped and fell against him, her heated cheek resting against his chest as she fought to slow breathing that raced along with her pulse.

She could hear Jane's heart pounding frantically beneath her ear, felt his arms embracing her tightly, as if he too needed to hang on to something, his ragged breaths stirring the hair at her temple.

"Jesus," she heard him mutter.

He was just as affected as she was, she realized, and she didn't know quite what to think of that. She wondered if maybe they were both in shock. Sanity and full use of their limbs didn't return for another minute or two, and it was Jane who stepped back, unsteady for the first time since she'd met him. Lisbon moved to grasp the back of a lawn chair, fearful her legs might give beneath her.

"I—" they both began at once. She looked over at him, sudden humor replacing the dazed look in his eyes. He chuckled shakily, his hands raking through his hair.

"You go first."

"I was going to apologize."

His expression dimmed. "And are you? Sorry?"

"I don't know," she whispered honestly. "I'm going to need a minute or a hundred to think." She smiled grimly. "What were _you_ going to say?"

"I—" he began, then closed his mouth, his lips forming a firm line, his brows knitting in confusion. "I honestly don't remember. That's never…happened to me before." He met her eyes and they stared at one another in mutual wonder.

"This shouldn't have happened at all," she said at last. "You shouldn't have come here. How am I supposed to avoid looking at you in court without arousing uh, suspicion?"

His grin returned-the charming version that made her stomach flutter. "You're afraid you won't be able to control yourself around me now, is that it? Afraid of… _arousal_ was it?"

"That's not what I'm saying."

"Oh, Teresa, that's _exactly_ what you're saying. And for the record, now that I've tasted you, I won't be able to think of doing anything else until I have more. Sort of like that first bite of Fenton's ice cream…" As he spoke, he was moving toward her again, a predatory look in his eye, and she tried to put the chair between them, but he set one knee in it and trapped her, his hands covering hers where they rested on the back of the chair.

"We can't do this," she said, hoping her voice sounded stronger than she felt. " _You_ can't keep doing this. Coming over here with your, your perfect hair and your rocky road, and your annoying, condescending advice, and your—your hair."

The advice part wasn't precisely fair, but she was feeling out of control and the one thing that grounded Lisbon was listing the crimes of the accused.

He squeezed her hands, and her agitation subsided. He didn't like being out of control any more than she did.

"Hey," he said calmly, his face devoid now of mischief. "Look at me, Teresa."

She turned to face him almost reluctantly, knowing how looking directly at him in the romantic fairy lights would be her undoing. Sort of like gazing into the sun.

"I for one am not going to apologize for that kiss, and honestly, I can't say I'm surprised it happened. I've wanted it to happen from the moment I saw you. You can't deny the heat between us, not now, not with all the overwhelming evidence before you, Counselor. But you're right; it was reckless of me to come here tonight. Until the trial is over, I promise to be more careful."

"You have to promise not to—"

"I'm not promising not to kiss you," he interrupted, reading her mind in that disconcerting way of his. "Just as I won't promise not to take you to bed when you're ready, or maybe even out for a drink to celebrate when this damn thing is all over. But I will think things through a little better next time."

"I am _not_ going to bed with you," she said, yanking her hands away. She stepped back from the chair, her anger at his assumption steadying her now.

"Okay," he said, watching her skeptically. He got off the chair but gave her her space, for now. "I agree it's too soon. But believe it or not, I can be a very patient man when there's something worth waiting for."

"Ha," she chuffed in disbelief.

"But now, I'll leave you to get some sleep. You need to be on your game tomorrow."

He strode past her toward the stairwell door, and she caught another whiff of his warm, spicy cologne. She closed her eyes as desire washed over her anew. After a moment, when she didn't hear the squeak of the door, she opened her eyes to find him standing right in front of her. She flinched in surprise, and let out a squeak of her own. There was a smile on his lips when he gathered her in his arms and kissed her again. It was brief but knee-meltingly thorough.

He pulled back to see her suitably dazed, though his eyes weren't exactly clear either. "Sweet dreams, Teresa," he told her. Then, with one more soft touch of his mouth to hers, he left her.

When she was alone, she let out the shaky breath she'd been holding, her eyes still on the door he'd left through.

"How the hell am I supposed to get to sleep now?"

Xxxxxxxxxx

Jane exited Lisbon's building, and he stood on the sidewalk looking up at the rooftop where he could just see the glow from the white lights ten floors up. A few moments later, they clicked off. He could imagine her slowly descending the stairs to her apartment, pondering their hot kisses and wondering whether she should be mad at him or turned on. He imagined it was a healthy helping of both. That was okay. He could work with that.

He smiled to himself, still tasting her on his tongue, still feeling her small hands stroking his back while her tongue delved into his mouth. Shivering a little in thwarted desire, he slipped his hands into his suit coat pockets. He looked both ways, letting a few late-night cars pass, before he j-walked across the street to his Citroen, parked in the shadow of a eucalyptus tree.

He'd just put his key in the lock when someone gripped his left arm from behind, while simultaneously he felt the sharp point of a knife pressed gently into his right side.

"You've been a naughty, naughty boy, Patrick," a high-pitched, obviously disguised voice whispered into his ear.

Jane's blood turned to ice.

 **A/N: Sorry to leave you this way. Okay, I'm not sorry (insert evil laugh here). More soon. Please let me know what you think.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Once again, I appreciate all the wonderful reviews. Sorry this chapter is so late, but family from out of town got in the way of my writing, lol. I've made this chapter a little longer to make up for leaving you all hanging on the cliff for so long. I hope it was worth the wait.**

 **Chapter 5**

"Walk with me," said the soft voice near Jane's ear.

His accoster steered him away from his Citroen to a dark windowed, black Town Car two cars down the street. Had anyone been looking out a window, it would be impossible to tell anything was amiss. Maybe they'd seem like two lovers out for a stroll. Still, he hoped Teresa had been affected enough by their kisses to try to catch a last, romantic glimpse of him. But no one shouted his name, and no one came running out of her apartment building to save him.

"Open the back door," ordered his captor.

"Where are you taking me?" Jane asked. He'd heard once that if an attacker got you to go to a second location, you'd probably end up dead.

"It's a surprise," was the unhelpful reply. "Now shut up or I'll gut you like a fish."

The knife was a pretty good deterrent from making a scene and trying to escape, and besides, Jane had every intention of using his wits to get himself out of this.

But before he could come up with a plan, he was shoved roughly inside the car, the door slamming shut again before he could right himself on the seat. The locks immediately engaged in a stereo of clicks, and he saw there was a dark window separating the front seats from the back. He tried the doors, pounded on the dividing window, but he was trapped, and he realized no one would be able to see out or into the back seat. He reached into his pocket for his phone, but it was gone, and Jane was amazed that a one-time pickpocket like himself had been successfully robbed of it. He blamed the shock of the knife in his side.

The front passenger door opened and closed—he assumed by his assailant—and then they were off, driven by an unseen driver. It was pitch black in the backseat, but Jane tried to keep track of the turns the car made, paid attention to the number of stops at intersections, and then the familiar sound the tires made as they entered the freeway.

They drove for perhaps twenty minutes before exiting the freeway and driving through what Jane assumed was a residential area by the vibration and slow speeds they assumed. Soon he heard the sounds of a garage door opening, then shutting behind them. The moment they stopped, the car door opened and Jane was grabbed by a man in a ski mask (the exact height of Ray Haffner), who shoved a black hood over Jane's head before yanking his arms behind him and tightly cuffing his wrists. The cold end of a gun replaced the knife, this time at his back, and he was propelled silently forward. Inside the house, he was pushed into a chair, and he could feel thick carpet beneath his feet.

"What were you doing at Teresa Lisbon's apartment?" the disguised voice asked him from somewhere to his left.

Obviously, this was Red John—Thomas McAllister—who had been following him, but Jane found no reason to divulge those suspicions. What disturbed him more was the fact that McAllister was able to get out of police custody to manhandle him. When McAllister had first been arrested, he'd been about to board a plane for a Caribbean island with no extradition laws, as if he'd been tipped off beforehand. He claimed he was just going on vacation, but Lisbon had been able to get him ruled a flight risk, so he'd been remanded to the Sacramento County jail to await trial. Apparently, he still had friends in law enforcement, and he'd have the perfect alibi for Jane's abduction.

"Why do you think I'd be visiting a beautiful woman in the middle of the night?"

The punch to his stomach left Jane gasping in pain and loss of breath.

"I'm not a patient man," said Red John. "Now answer the question. I'll know if you're lying." There was an ominous threat in that, and Jane felt Haffner's presence on his right, no doubt awaiting orders to rough him up some more.

While Jane recovered from the first punch, he fought against the panic of having his senses being dulled by the hood over his head. He struggled to quiet his fears and think of a way out of this. It was a good thing perhaps that Red John couldn't see his face; he wasn't sure if he could have pulled off what he was about to say otherwise.

"I—I'm trying to seduce her into telling me her game plan in the McAllister trial," he finally managed. "If I can convince her I'm on her side, I can play double agent and better control how the trial goes in the sheriff's favor."

"Is that right?" Red John didn't seem convinced.

"Yeah," said Jane. "That's exactly how I won the Pierson case for my client back in LA," he bragged, though that was a lie too. "The DA, Susan Darcy, was like putty in my hands. I had her on her back before she gave her opening statement. The fact that she has great legs made it much less of a chore." He inserted as much male bravado as he could muster without sounding over the top, then held his breath, awaiting his death sentence. He heard a soft beep, and realized McAllister was accessing his cell phone. Jane quickly recalled the texts he would read to Teresa, and smiled beneath his hood. Everything he'd sent to Lisbon would support his claims of seduction:

 _I love to watch your mouth when you speak._

 _That color looks incredible on you._

 _Is your hair as silky as it looks?_

 _I'm betting your favorite ice cream is rocky road._

 _Roof._

 _Please? It's important._

Then, to Jane's relief, he heard a soft chuckle. He relaxed, quietly exhaling.

"How far did you get tonight with Lisbon?" asked Red John.

"She's a harder nut to crack; a bit of a Girl Scout. But by the dazed look on her face after I fed her ice cream and kissed her senseless, she's coming around."

"Good. McAllister will be pleased."

"I take it you're a friend of his?"

"Yeah, we're very close," the killer said dryly.

"Well you can tell him there was no need for this. I'm only after his best interests."

"You can understand his…concerns, can't you Patrick? Fraternizing with the enemy would not be wise."

"Nor is it financially sound," added Jane. He felt someone drop his phone back in his pocket, then grab his arm and pull him to his feet.

"You're letting me go?" he asked in surprise.

"For now. But if I find out you lied, or that you've tipped off the police or anyone in the DA's office, I'll paint your face with Teresa Lisbon's blood, then I'll use your bodies to fill my chum buckets."

"So you'll feed us to the fishes. That's a little cliché, don't you think?" But his heart was pounding with fear, a cold sweat beginning to drip into his eyes beneath the hood. It surprised him to realize he was more frightened for Teresa than for himself.

"Maybe," McAllister replied, "but this time there won't be any bodies lying around for a fake psychic to investigate." The implication was clear. He knew Jane had been involved in the Lorelei Martins murder. Knew how miserably he'd failed. But Jane was one step ahead of him now, and with the help of the ADA and Agent Cho, Red John would soon be on his way to Death Row.

"You're Red John," Jane said, trying to sound suitably shocked.

"Call me what you like, but I'm sure you know what I'm capable of. McAllister is a personal friend of mine. You cross him, you cross me."

"I won't. I-I swear," he added, his voice shaking a bit for good measure. He hadn't really had to act that much.

Soon Jane was forced back into the Town Car and chauffeured back to Lisbon's apartment building.

He stood again on the street, the hood still on his head until he heard Red John's car pass by. He tore it off, relishing the coolness of the air, taking a deep breath till his lungs were full of it. But where his car had once been parked, there was an unfamiliar vehicle in its place. He looked frantically up and down the street, but it was nowhere to be seen. Then he remembered that he'd left the keys hanging in the car door when he'd been taken.

"Great. Someone stole my goddamn car!"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning, Lisbon arrived early again to the courtroom, and she suppressed the hope that maybe Jane would be early too. But he wasn't, so she stood before the empty jury box, mouthing her speech quietly while she waited. As predicted, she hadn't slept well, and she'd applied extra concealer beneath her eyes, hoping the jury wouldn't notice how tired she looked. She blamed Jane more than her nerves about the trial, and every time she'd closed her eyes, she'd felt his lips on hers, felt the warmth of his body, the touch of his hands on her skin.

Soon, the other players arrived in the courtroom, and before she knew it, she was delivering her opening statement, trying to ignore Jane who sat in his usual place behind the Defense table. She glimpsed his face before she sat down again, and he looked even more tired than she did; gone was his usual expression of faint amusement. He looked too serious, too gaunt. Something was wrong, and her stomach clenched in fear. Had they been found out?

He happened to catch her eye, and he nodded slightly, but she couldn't tell whether he was trying to convey anything to her. Her phone was in her pocket, but she hadn't felt the vibration of a text.

After Ray Haffner gave his statement on McAllister's behalf, there was a twenty-minute recess, and she risked sending him a text.

 _Everything okay?_

She glanced his way, saw him take out his phone.

 _Yes,_ he replied.

A moment or two later, and she received another message: _Good job_.

She couldn't help the small smile that appeared on her lips at the compliment, but when she looked Jane's way again, he was gone.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane stood in a stall of the men's room, trying hard to calm himself. Every time he looked at the back of Thomas McAllister's balding head, he felt sick to the stomach. Red John could get out of jail, had threatened his and Lisbon's lives. Even if he were convicted, would others help the killer out to satisfy his lust for blood, continuing his long string of violent murders? He would be in a low security prison with mostly white-collar offenders. If he still had friends in law enforcement, how difficult would it be for him to come and go as he pleased, or worse, escape completely?

Jane rested his forehead against the cool walls of the stall, closing his eyes as a wave of nausea washed over him. Had he been able to eat something that morning, he couldn't have stopped himself from retching. He was tempted to get Teresa alone and whisper in her ear that this whole damn thing was all for nothing, that she should call Agent Cho and get round-the-clock protection, or better yet, fly to South America, or Europe maybe—somewhere beyond Red John's reach, if that were possible.

Jane had no idea how far McAllister's power and influence extended, but his gut told him it was pretty far. The vast majority of people within law enforcement and the judicial system were good and honorable, but it would only take a few well-placed minions for the sheriff to pull some very important strings.

A dangerous thought began to take shape in his mind, one just as frightening as the idea that no prison bars could stop McAllister. _He_ could stop McAllister.

Jane had the proximity and the relative trust of the sheriff's inner defense circle, at least until they decided he was no longer useful to them, or until they figured out what he was really up to with Teresa. The window for this might be very small, and a sense of urgency suddenly replaced the fear.

He washed his face and shaking hands and looked at himself in the mirror. Could he actually do this? He imagined himself pulling a trigger, or maybe injecting a syringe filled with poison, or slipping something deadly into the man's coffee. In each case, he pictured Thomas McAllister dead on the floor, his startling blue eyes staring blankly in death. This is the image that finally calmed him, and, after drying himself on a course paper towel, he left the restroom.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Back in the courtroom, the recess was almost over. Lisbon saw Jane take his usual seat, though she forced herself not to look his way. She felt the vibration of his text, however, and pulled out her phone to look.

 _Meet me later. My place._

 _Where is your place?_ She asked.

 _The Citizen Hotel_

 _Not sure that's a good idea._

 _It's important,_ he fired back, just as the jury re-entered the room.

 _Ok_ , she replied, then put away her phone.

Last night he'd said it was "important" that they meet, and where had that led them? Memory of his heated kisses reddened her cheeks, and she barely had time to pull herself together before she was asked to call her first witness.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Later that evening, Jane paced anxiously in his hotel room. When he'd arrived at The Citizen via taxi the night before, fearing his much beloved car had been stolen, it was only to find it parked on the street before the hotel. When he'd tried the driver's side door, it was unlocked, the keys in the seat.

The bastard knew where he'd been staying.

Before Teresa arrived, he went online and rented another room under a false name held over from his conman days. He kept his original room, knowing McAllister would be suspicious if he started changing things, but he feared that room was probably bugged by now. And so, just before six o'clock, he took the stairs one floor up and waited for her in the new room whose number he'd texted to Teresa.

He tensed at the soft knock, then, peering through the keyhole, he saw Teresa and smiled at her forethought in coming in disguise. He opened the door, admiring how her head was swathed with a black scarf, how she wore large sunglasses that mostly hid her face. He was reminded of Audrey Hepburn. Red John's spies might recognize her as she came into the hotel, but there was no way anyone else could prove from surveillance cameras that Teresa Lisbon had been visiting the defense's jury consultant.

"Miss Golightly, I presume," he said by way of greeting. He ushered her inside.

She grimaced, touching her scarf self-consciously. "Too much?"

"Not at all. It's very becoming."

"That's not exactly the look I was going for, but thanks."

He was so glad to see her safe that he gathered her into his arms the moment the door shut behind them. For a brief moment he felt her melt into him, but then she stepped back from his embrace and removed her sunglasses.

"What's going on, Jane? You look…troubled."

His welcoming smile faded. "Red John abducted me last night."

"What?" Her eyes grew wide with shock.

"Just after I left your building, he was waiting for me. He pushed me into the back of a car and drove me somewhere on a residential street. I can remember the stops and turns, but I haven't had the chance to retrace the trip yet. I'm pretty sure Haffner was there too."

She gasped suddenly in realization. "Oh, God. He was out of jail? How?"

"My guess is he's still got pull with the police."

"Then what's the freakin' point to all this?"

"You can't look at it that way," said Jane. "Once he's convicted, we can get people you trust to lock him up somewhere secure." He tried not to sound as doubtful as he felt, but then the image of McAllister's dead eyes came back to bolster his resolve.

Lisbon unwound the scarf from her dark hair and sat heavily on the bed. "No offense, but why are you still alive?"

He sighed and moved to the mini fridge to retrieve a couple tiny bottles of whiskey. He sat down next to Lisbon on the bed and offered her one. She took it thankfully, and they took a few moments to methodically unscrew the bottles and down the contents. The slow burning from their throats to their bellies succeeded in calming them both somewhat.

"I suppose McAllister believes he still needs me to get him exonerated."

"But if he grabbed you outside my apartment building, he knows you're working with me."

Jane nodded sheepishly at her expression of horror. "Yes, he does. But I told him I was trying to seduce you to help his case, to get inside information."

She flushed. "That's ridiculous."

"I told him I'd done it before on another case, and I think he was skeptical, but he seemed to be willing to give me the benefit of the doubt. You can be sure he's watching us both now, so we have to be even more careful."

He didn't mention how Red John had threatened their lives if Jane was proven to be lying, nor did he disclose his plan to take matters into his own hands.

"You think he's listening to us now?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.

He shook his head. "Not in here." He explained to her about this second room. "I couldn't find a bug or anything suspicious on my cell phone, but we should probably be careful what we say and text from now on. I'm no surveillance expert, but I'm betting there are cameras or bugs in my other room. We should probably go back there now and make this thing look as real as possible."

"What does that mean?"

"I'm supposed to be seducing you, remember? If they followed you here, they're expecting you and I to be…uh…cavorting in my room."

She stood abruptly from the bed. "There will be absolutely _no_ cavorting."

He reached for her hand. "Teresa…our backs are against the wall here." Her eyes went from his warm hand wrapped around hers back up to his serious, pleading eyes.

"He threatened us, didn't he?"

"Yes," he said simply. There was really no sense in denying it, and suddenly Jane was grateful she'd figured it out so quickly. "That's why you need to go to Cho and get protection."

"No. He'll want to put me in some sort of protective custody. I can't do that now; I'm right in the middle of a trial. Besides, how bad will that look for you if I suddenly disappear? He'll know instantly you tipped me off. And if he can get away from jail to abduct you…" She trailed off ominously.

"Then we continue with the original plan," said Jane, rising to his feet. "We convict this bastard and get on with our lives." She pulled her hand away and walked back toward the door.

"Only now, not only do I have to fool the judge and jury, I have to convince a serial killer I'm your dupe. That might be a bit more of an acting job than I'm up to. Dammit, why did I ever agree to this?" she said, her voice suddenly vehement. "I wish to God I'd never met you."

When she saw the brief flash of hurt in his eyes, he knew she regretted her words immediately. "Jane, I didn't mean—"

He shook his head. "Yes, you did. But as to the reason you agreed to the plan, remember the big picture here. We're doing this so that not another innocent girl is hacked to death. Whatever we go through, whatever we have to do, it will all be worth it in the end."

They stared at each other for a heavy moment, until a reluctant smile brought out her dimples. "We'd better get on with it then. But there's no way I'm sleeping with you, not with someone else watching." She shivered at the thought.

He couldn't just let that go, and he grinned. "So, if no one was watching, then…?"

She blushed. "That's not what I meant. For now, we'll give them a little preview in your other room, then I'll start having second thoughts, being the upstanding prosecutor that I am—and I'll escape with my virtue still intact."

"Though obviously sorely tempted."

"Obviously." The ego stroke was meant to make up for her earlier hurtful words, but he knew the truth. He'd felt her kisses on the roof when no one had been watching them at all.

"Okay, well that means I'll have to dial back my charms a bit, so you won't forget yourself and get carried away."

She covered her smile by putting her disguise back on. "Oh, I think I'll manage to resist, even if your charms are turned up to the limit."

"Uh-huh," he said, not hiding his skepticism.

They left the room then and rode the elevator down a floor, walking together to his door as if they had met elsewhere in the hotel and were going back to his room for an assignation.

He heard her take a deep breath as he slid his key card into the reader, and he gave her a reassuring smile. Once inside, the real show would begin.

XXXXXXXXXXx

"You were amazing today," Jane said, his hand on her lower back, guiding her further into his room. His voice was low and seductive, and Lisbon tried her best not to appear too stiff for their audience. He leaned into her hair near her ear.

"Relax," he whispered. Then, aloud: "Would you like a drink? I have champagne."

She saw that he had thought to chill a bottle in an ice bucket, and, looking around the room, she noted the flickering candlelight and a single red rose laid in the center of the bed. _Dear God_. Had this been for real, there would be no way she could resist this man. She removed her disguise once again, setting her things on a nearby chair.

"Sure," she replied. She jumped in spite of herself when he popped the cork, and she couldn't keep her hand from shaking when he gave her a fluted glass of champagne.

"I—I shouldn't be here," she said. And that was true enough.

"We're not doing anything wrong," he insisted, joining her on the bed, just as he'd done upstairs, only his smiles now were relaxed, his eyes dreamy with sensual intent. "Have I once mentioned the case?"

"Well, no. But you congratulated me. If anyone were to ever look at your phone…"

He tilted the hand holding her glass toward her lips, encouraging her to take a sip. She happily did so.

"They won't. This has nothing to do with the trial, Teresa. I took one look at you, and I know you felt the chemistry between us. It's just bad luck we're on opposite sides of this thing. We'll just have to be careful, and meet in secret till it's all over."

"But—"

"We're not in the courtroom right now. You're not a prosecutor; I'm not a jury consultant. We're just a man and a woman acting on our natural instincts. Nothing wrong with that." His hand settled on her bare knee just below the hem of her skirt, and he leaned in to press his lips to her cheek.

She shivered, then finished the rest of her champagne. _This was Jane dialed back?_ He took her glass and set it on the floor, his eyes never leaving hers.

"It's okay, Teresa," he said, more for her benefit than for whomever might be watching. He reached for the rose, brushed the soft petals against the base of her throat, then moved it up her neck, her jaw, before lightly tracing her lips.

"This is for you."

But before she could thank him, his mouth was mimicking the path the rose had just taken, and she found herself responding instantly to his hot kiss.

For a few sweet moments, she forgot where they were, forgot a killer was likely watching them. Jane lowered her gently to the bed, covering her body with his own as the kiss deepened. It was heavenly, the feeling of his weight upon her, pushing her into the mattress. The hardness that rested against her stomach was no act, and she instinctively pushed up against him. He couldn't help the moan that escaped his lips, and she swallowed the sound as his tongue tangled languidly with hers. One hand moved to cup her breast through her blouse, the other sliding beneath her skirt to caress her inner thigh. She trembled at his touch, and his lips slid over to her ear.

"Go now," he whispered urgently, "or I won't be able to stop."

Her eyes sprung open, and she pushed at him as hard as she could. He rolled unceremoniously off her, and sat up on his elbows to watch her get unsteadily to her feet and pull down her skirt. She grabbed her scarf and glasses from the chair and stumbled to the door.

"Teresa, wait!" he called after her.

"I can't do this!" she cried, before slamming the door shut behind her.

On the bed, Jane tried to control his breathing enough to offer his most devious smile for the camera.

"Next time, you'll be mine," he said into the empty room. He hoped to hell Red John was listening, because letting her go had been the hardest thing he'd had to do in a very long time.

 **A/N: I'll have more much sooner next time, I promise. Thanks for reading.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thanks again for reading and reviewing this fic. I hope you continue to enjoy it.**

 **Chapter 6**

When Jane thought about where he would get a poison to kill Red John, one name from his past came immediately to mind: Bret Stiles. After Jane's carnival days, he'd fallen in with the con man and they'd traveled together for a while. Stiles taught Jane everything he knew about crafting the long con. They pulled off a few jobs, and soon Jane had accumulated enough money to go out on his own and begin his psychic business. Stiles went his way as well, hitting on the New Age craze of the early nineties with a self-help religious cult that Jane had watched grow into an officially recognized, alternative religion. And Stiles was now living like a king.

But becoming his own man wasn't the main reason Jane had broken away from Stiles. The man had a darkness about him, a willingness to do whatever he had to to get what he wanted, and murder was probably not off the table. Which was why Jane had come to him for help in eliminating Red John.

Jane had called him from the privacy of his second hotel room and they arranged a meeting. Stiles's church compound was just an hour's drive away, but they met in a coffee shop a block from Jane's hotel. All Jane had to say was that he was being followed, and the streetwise Stiles of old knew the drill immediately. They pretended to be old friends who had accidentally run into each other, and carried their cups of tea to a booth in the back. Both men surreptitiously scanned the café. There didn't seem to be anyone watching here.

"It's good to see you, Patrick," said Stiles in the low, cultured voice Jane remembered so well. Jane had at one time toyed with faking a British accent, or maybe Australian. Americans were mesmerized by foreign accents, and Jane was convinced Stiles had lured many more of them to join his cult because of his.

"Likewise," said Jane. "It's been awhile."

"Yes, but I've watched with pride as your new side gig has flourished. Your latest client is a very important one."

Jane's eyes narrowed. He could tell Stiles knew more than he was saying.

"I'm having some second thoughts about the man's innocence," Jane ventured, fishing.

"And well you should. He's dangerous, that one. You'd be well to be very cautious about trying to scam him."

The two men sipped their tea, Jane having learned from this master the best way to drink the stuff.

"What if I said I wanted him dead?" No use beating about the bush now.

Stiles's silver eyebrows shot up. Few things actually surprised him. "Really?"

"Really," Jane replied.

Stiles's expression turned ponderous, seriously considering Jane's desire. "It would have to be something the authorities would attribute to natural causes, and there must obviously be no links back to you."

Jane nodded, though it was a little startling how willing Stiles was to talk about a hit. "What do you suggest?"

"I suggest you get Ray Haffner to do it for you."

It was Jane's turn to be surprised. "What?"

Stiles grinned, reminding Jane anew of the old Christmas cartoon Grinch. "Ray is one of mine."

"He's in Visualize? He abducted me and put a bag over my head so McAllister could threaten me."

"You mean so Red John could," said Stiles casually.

 _So he knew_ , thought Jane. Jane was suddenly furious, and it took him a moment to summon the words from his tight throat, to keep his voice down in this very public place. "You're telling me, you've known the identity of a serial killer and you haven't done anything? You've let that maniac murder innocent women? You're just as bad as he is."

Stiles gave him a bland smile. "Now, Patrick, who do you think arranged for McAllister to get caught with his hand in the till? It was the best I could do, for in case you hadn't noticed, the bastard is quite good at covering his tracks."

"Jesus Christ, Bret. What the hell is going on between you two?"

"Calm yourself. People are watching you, remember?" Stiles was obviously enjoying himself; he liked knowing things that others didn't. "Thomas and I were partners once upon a time, much like you and I were, Patrick. He was a founding member of Visualize, and at first, I overlooked his…predilections. But soon things got out of hand, and a couple female members mysteriously disappeared. I asked him to leave. Needless to say, he didn't take it well," he added dryly. "But then he reinvented himself, started his own little group he likes to call the Blake Association. I stayed out of his way—that is, until he started poaching some of my top members."

"So you arranged for the evidence against him out of some sort of sick pissing match? A _my cult is better than your cult_ kind of thing?"

"Now you're being crass. I really have had a change of heart where Thomas is concerned. It makes me quite ill to think of the innocent blood he's shed, but honestly, I have no proof. Embezzlement was the best I could do. Haffner is there to make sure there's a conviction."

"He's going to try to lose? No wonder he hasn't objected to my jury suggestions."

"Quite," said Stiles, pleased with himself that along with Red John, he was also pulling one over on Jane. "But let me hand it to you, Patrick, you've been very clever in your jury manipulations. It makes a mentor proud. And I've enjoyed watching your seduction of the fair ADA Lisbon. Stellar performance, working both sides."

Jane didn't bother correcting him. True, it would have been brilliant of him to have thought of such a thing, but biology and vengeance had more to do with his association with Teresa than manipulation. Seduction was definitely still on the table, but not for the reasons Stiles and Red John thought.

Jane leaned forward, moving closer to Stiles over the table. " _You_ could have done better though. If you've truly had a change of heart, as you say, you could have killed him yourself. Don't tell me you haven't knocked out an enemy or two over the years. That's why I came to you, after all."

Stiles shrugged almost sheepishly. "Now that wouldn't have been too sporting of me, would it? Thomas is a brilliant conman. It would be a waste of his talent to just eliminate him out of hand. And who knows? I might have lured him back again, once he got out of prison, and we could have made a powerful team. But I confess I'm getting old, Patrick; the game is not as fun as it used to be. So if you want him dead, I'll gladly help you make those arrangements."

"And there'll be nothing linking you personally to his death. Haffner will gladly take the blame for you like a good little minion."

Stiles wasn't offended. "Thomas has minions. _I_ have minions. Spy v. spy, as it were. It's the way of things. Haffner is a true believer, willing to die for the Visualize cause. He is loyal, resisted Thomas's overtures and went undercover to essentially do the same thing you're doing. It wasn't until I got your call that I realized this. You and Ray should be working together."

Jane stared into his cooling tea, feeling like the rug had pulled from beneath him. He'd always thought himself so intuitive. Why hadn't he seen what was really going on around him? Still, whatever feud or sick game Stiles and Red John had going was of no concern to him. If Stiles wanted to take out a serial killer, even by proxy, Jane would have no trouble sleeping at night if Haffner went to prison for it. Jane would gladly sit back and watch someone else do what he dreaded doing himself. If that made him on par with Stiles, he'd live with the hypocrisy. Jane looked up from his tea, noted the faint amusement in the cloudy blue eyes as the old con artist sized him up.

"So, how would we go about doing this?" Jane asked.

Stiles grinned triumphantly. "That's my boy!"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Another day of the trial came and went, with Lisbon calling her first witness to the stand. She thought it had gone well, and she was carefully laying the state's case against McAllister. It was an exercise in self-control, however, not to let Red John's arrogant, knowing gaze trip her up in the courtroom.

To her surprise, Jane hadn't been there, and she tried not to worry that he might have been abducted again—or worse. They were meddling in the life of a serial killer, and if Red John stopped trusting Jane, she had no doubt she'd be called to the scene of Jane's murder. The thought made her shiver with horror, and she resolutely pushed the graphic images from her mind.

"Are you okay, Teresa?" asked Grace as Lisbon gathered up her papers to leave the office for the night. "You're looking a little…tense."

"Gee, thanks," she replied in amusement. Grace flushed.

"Sorry. But seriously, I wonder if this case is stressing you out more than usual. I mean, you've prosecuted a million embezzlement cases…"

Lisbon smiled, intentionally relaxing her features. "You're right. I am a bit stressed. But it's actually more to do with a personal matter rather than this case per se. I'm fine, really. Thanks for your concern."

But Grace wasn't completely mollified, and her delicate brow furrowed with worry.

"Okay, but you know I'm here if you need me, and not just to file motions."

"Thanks, Grace. I do know that." She changed the subject. "And by the way, how was your date with Cho's friend Wayne?"

She shrugged, a little too nonchalantly to fool Lisbon. "He's okay. Sort of a goofball, and maybe a little too… _eager_. I like that he's so tall though, and he did make me laugh—in a good way."

"Enough to go on a second date?"

"Maybe," Grace replied, but Lisbon could tell she was seriously considering it. She'd met Wayne Rigsby, who was also a CBI Agent, at the same time Grace had, when they'd had to work together on their last trial. According to Cho, Rigsby had harassed him for days to finagle Grace's number. After several phone calls and countless texts, she'd finally been worn down and gone out with him. Lisbon thought the match seemed promising.

At least someone was involved in a normal relationship, Lisbon thought wryly. Memories of last night's passionate encounter, as awkward and fraught with danger as it was, made her feel all melty inside. She'd never felt so aroused by a man so quickly before, and the adrenalin rush of the situation had only enhanced her reaction to him. But now, at the end of a long day without hearing from him, she was feeling more fear than passion.

After saying her goodbyes to Grace, Lisbon risked sending Jane a text asking how he was. He still hadn't replied when she pulled her Mustang into her apartment building's small parking garage. She drove into her numbered space, and she was about to turn off the engine when a tap on the passenger window made her jump. It was Jane, and he grinned at her surprised reaction. Her mouth contorted into an angry line, green eyes snapping fire, as she rolled down the window.

"Not funny," she said.

He tried the door, but she stubbornly left it locked. "Come on, Teresa. Let me in. Please?"

She gestured toward the interior of the car, tapping her ear. They might have bugged her car. He held up a small device that looked sort of like a Walkie Talkie. She unlocked the door and he settled into the passenger seat, turning on the bug detector. After a thorough sweep of the Mustang's interior, he determined it was free of listening devices and cameras.

"You sure that thing works?" she whispered.

"I have it on good authority that it does," he replied. She didn't question him further.

"Where were you today?" she asked casually, looking straight ahead at the blank wall before her car.

"Why? Did you miss me?"

"No, but I was a little concerned, given your recent encounter with McAllister."

"Haffner didn't need me today, so I took care of some personal business."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Had he been with another woman? She mentally kicked herself for even thinking that way. They'd shared nothing but a couple of kisses and some adolescent groping. If he had a woman on the side, it was none of her business.

"I wasn't seeing anyone else, Teresa," he said, reading her mind. She didn't know why that annoying trait still surprised her. "There's no one else that interests me at the moment, not to mention I'm pretty tied up with stopping a serial killer to have time for anyone else."

She sniffed, but didn't comment, though a wave of warmth washed over her at his admission.

"I was acquiring this little device and getting some advice from an old friend."

She turned in her seat to look at him dead on. "You told someone what we're doing?"

"Not exactly," he hedged.

"What the hell does that mean? This is my career and my life you're throwing around willy nilly. I—"

He put his hand on her arm. "Calm down. Everything is fine. No one is ratting you out, and McAllister is not going to find out what we're up to, either. Now, do you want to know why I'm here or not?"

She valiantly swallowed her anger at his condescending tone. "Fine," she said through clenched teeth. "Why are you here?"

Before she could protest, he leaned over and captured her lips, his tongue slipping inside her mouth to boldly caress the hot interior. Her anger forgotten, she helplessly kissed him back, hating herself for this power he had over her, but wanting him just the same.

"Let's go up to your apartment," he whispered against her mouth. "I'll bring my little friend."

Of course he meant his bug detector, but something in this infuriating man brought out the uncharacteristic mischief in her.

"Little?"

He pulled back from her, openly admiring her flushed cheeks and twinkling eyes. His smile was amused but with a confidence that was entirely masculine. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

"I've never heard any complaints."

Her heart jumped. _Uh, no, I'm sure you haven't._

"Besides," he continued, "I'm supposed to be seducing you, remember?"

She swallowed over a mouth that had suddenly gone dry. "I remember," she said hoarsely.

On that note, she turned to let herself out the door, felt his hands slide over her bare arms as she moved away from him. From the back seat she retrieved her purse and briefcase.

They rode up in the elevator, the tension between them palpable. She was halfway hoping he would find a listening device or two in her apartment, because she knew that without such monitoring, she wouldn't be able to summon an excuse not to sleep with him. If she were honest with herself, however, she didn't want to make excuses. She wanted him.

"You questioned your first witness today?" Jane asked, breaking the silence.

"Yes, the accountant that first discovered the embezzled funds."

"How'd it go?"

"Well, I think. Haffner wasn't too hard on her. He's apparently not questioning that funds were stolen; he's making the case that his client couldn't have done it."

"Ah," said Jane. "That's a sound strategy."

She frowned. "Whose side are you on?"

He shrugged. "I'm just saying it's a good defense. You'll just have to come up with a better prosecution, right?"

As the elevator door slid open on the eighth floor, a thought occurred to her. Jane didn't seem as interested in her winning the case as he had in days past. He didn't offer any suggestions, didn't question her choices in direct examination. This, along with his failure to even show up in the courtroom made her a little wary. Before they entered her apartment, she stopped him in the middle of the empty hallway.

"What's going on, Jane? Something is different, and I deserve to know what."

He looked at her directly in the eyes, obviously considering his next words carefully. "There's nothing going on you should worry about, Teresa. We're sticking to our original plan. Don't let my absence today put you off your game."

"No one's going to _put me off my game_ ," she said archly. "I'm giving it one-hundred percent, one-hundred percent of the time."

He nodded in approval. "Good. But also, if we're partners in this enterprise, you need to trust me."

"And _you_ need to trust _me_ ," she shot back.

He smiled softly, kissed the firm line of her lips. "I do. Now unlock your door so we can find out if Big Brother is watching you."

She wanted to scream in exasperation, but settled for an irritated sigh. She produced her keys from her handbag and turned her key in the lock. To her surprise, he stepped immediately inside ahead of her, and she noted with a mixture of surprise and gratitude that his hand went to his suitcoat pocket. He had a gun in there; she was sure of it. She wondered if she should mention the Glock she kept in her bedside table, the very one her father had had when she was growing up. He had taught her and her brothers how to shoot at an early age, pounded into their heads the importance of gun safety. It made her, a single woman alone, feel much more secure; especially one who prosecuted dangerous criminals.

He held up a hand for her to wait as he patrolled each room of her small apartment. When he returned with a reassuring nod, he was holding up the bug detector. He scoured her rooms once more, pleased that it never once vibrated a warning.

"All clear," he said at last. "Nice bedroom, by the way."

She blushed but ignored his suggestive smile. "You sure that thing really works?"

His smile morphed into a grin. "We still talking about the bug detector? Yeah, it's the best on the market. Though I do find it odd that you aren't being bugged and I am." He tapped his lower lip in thought a moment, but didn't comment further. She thought it strange as well.

"Did anyone follow you here?"

"Oh, undoubtedly," he said. "I'm sure McAllister will be informed that I came to your place, stayed the whole night."

Her eyebrows shot up. "The _whole_ night? I don't think so." She tossed her things on the bar in the kitchen.

"Come on, Teresa. If I just stayed an hour or two and then left, there might still be a question of whether or not I uh, accomplished my mission. I mean, for all they know we could just be playing Scrabble. But if I'm here all night, well…"

"Well, maybe we were playing Monopoly," she finished for him.

He chuckled. "If that's what you want, then sure. No one has to know what we really do in here, Teresa. I just need to report back any supposed pillow talk, and he'll be satisfied."

Her eyes grew wide in sudden fear. "You think he'll kidnap you again?"

"Maybe. Or send Haffner to punch me in the gut a few times until I spill the beans."

"Wait," she said, moving closer to him in concern. "He punched you before?"

Her hand fell on his flat stomach, and when she felt it tighten beneath his shirt, he let out an involuntary gasp of pain.

"Sorry!" she exclaimed, dropping her hand at once.

"It's okay. Just a little sore. I've had worse."

"Been tarred and feathered and run out on a rail," she asked in gentle amusement.

He caught her hand, brought it to his lips as he had that first day they'd met. "Something like that."

She was captivated by his eyes, by the warmth of his hand. He was so vital, so filled with charisma and latent sexuality that it was almost unfair.

"You don't really want to play Monopoly all night, do you?" he asked, bending to press his mouth to her neck. His soft hair and faintly scratchy whiskers threatened to overwhelm her with conflicting sensations.

"How about chess then?" she suggested, her voice wavering with desire.

He shook his head, his lips following the line of her jaw to her ear. "I'd kick your ass at chess," he whispered.

Seduction or not, Teresa Lisbon couldn't resist a challenge. She abruptly pulled away. "Oh, really?"

They were both breathing heavily, both trembling in anticipation. He realized his mistake, reached out to draw her closer again. "No. I was just kidding," he said, almost desperately. "I totally stink at chess."

"Liar."

She moved beyond his reach and marched over to the cabinet beneath her television, withdrawing an old plastic chess set in a ragged box that she'd had since she was a kid. The lid was held on with a rubber band.

She set the box on the small dining table and took a seat. She'd been a chess team champion in high school, and no one was going to dismiss her skills without a fight.

"Sit," she ordered, sliding the rubber band from around the box.

He ran a hand through his thick hair in sexual frustration and she could have sworn she heard him swear harshly under his breath, but then he walked reluctantly to the chair opposite her.

"You know, Poker is a much faster-paced game."

She gave him a hard stare.

"Fine," he relented glumly. Then he brightened. "Can we play strip chess?"

But she ignored his request and began setting up the board and placing the pieces on their appropriate squares. He hung his head in dejection.

"I take it that's a no."

A few moments later, the board set, she moved her first pawn.

"Your move, Mr. Kickass."

He brought out a knight without even thinking about it. "How about a deal then. If you win, we do whatever you like the rest of the night. If I win, we do what _I_ want."

She didn't bother to point out the possibility that they likely wanted very similar things. But first she had to beat him at chess. She paused, her hand hovering over her bishop.

" _Anything_ I like?"

She thought about him, that firm body of his, naked and straining beneath her upon her very comfortable sheets. She was definitely a woman who liked it on top.

"Anything," he assured her, and when he caught a glimpse of the sensual promise in her eyes, for once, Patrick Jane didn't give a damn whether he won or lost. As a matter of fact, he seriously considered throwing the game, just so he could see what she had in mind behind those unfathomable green eyes. Then again, he could think of a lot of things he wanted to do with her in that very luxurious bed of hers.

"Deal," she said, and reached over the board to shake his hand. He ran his thumb over her palm, then rested a finger on her skittering pulse.

He met her eyes and nodded toward the board, a light of challenge there mingling with the passion.

"You gonna move that bishop, Counselor? I haven't got all night."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ray Haffner patted his jacket, feeling the faint outline of the small capsule inside his breast pocket. He was glad Mr. Stiles was finished toying with McAllister. Haffner was too loyal, too in awe of his spiritual leader to question his plans for the serial killer, trusting that he knew what was best for the Universe. But with Red John dead, they could bring the members of the Blake Association into the fold, teach them that there was a better way of living; a way of inner peace and enlightenment. If it took the death of one man to further their cause, the Universe would understand.

As Haffner drove away from the Visualize compound, he didn't notice the inconspicuous dark sedan that merged onto the freeway behind him.

 **A/N: Another cliffie of sorts, lol. But I promise to stop teasing, and the next chapter will be overflowing with "M". Till then, I'd love to hear your thoughts.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Thanks so much for all your kind reviews. I wish I had time this week to answer them all individually, but I want you all to know that they encourage me and reward me for my work, and I appreciate every one. I'm having some medical issues, so I'm not sure how long until my next chapter, but I will do my best and will at the very least write in "my head" so I can put it down as soon as possible. As promised, please be aware this chapter is rated M, but as always, I try to make these scenes tasteful and from a place of affection and love. I hope you like it.

 **Chapter 7**

Within an hour, they'd arrived at a stalemate, both kings, Lisbon's bishop, and one of Jane's pawns the only pieces remaining on the board, deadlocked. He'd paid more attention to her mouth than to his own playing, moving haphazardly on instincts alone when it was his turn. Still, he'd nearly beaten her.

"Rematch?" asked Lisbon, annoyed that she'd been so close to beating him and was denied her victory.

He took one look at her face, one eyebrow arched in challenge, green eyes gleaming with determination, and he felt something inside melt a little. His own eyes widened briefly, but then he tamped down those dangerous emotions and reached for her hand, his handsome features reflecting a determined expression of his own.

"Not on your life," he proclaimed in answer, rising and pulling her smoothly from her chair and into his arms. His mouth swiftly descended upon hers, and the previous hour's frustration guided his desperate movements. He felt overwhelmed and undone by her, gratified beyond measure when her fingers slid into his hair, trying to bring him closer and deepen the kiss. He was happy to oblige.

They moved as one toward the hallway, their lips still fused, hands straying beneath clothing as they headed toward the bedroom, their journey punctuated by passionate pauses and gasps of pleasure. Her fantasy of having him in her bed was about to come true, and when he tore his mouth from hers to work at the buttons on her blouse, she began to tremble uncontrollably. His hands were none too steady either, and she laughed nervously.

He looked up from his task and gave her a smile so sweetly endearing she felt her galloping heart momentarily seize in her chest. _No!_ _It's too soon for that_ , she thought dazedly. _Way too soon._

His suitcoat had been abandoned somewhere in the hall, and she didn't have the patience he was showing with her blouse. She pulled roughly at his expensive shirt, a few buttons bouncing soundlessly onto her carpeted floor. They exposed each other's chests at the same time, and as she leaned forward to taste his smooth flesh, he reached behind her to release her bra. He tasted clean and faintly of salt, smelled of soap and spice and man. As her tongue teased each flat nipple, he shuddered and cupped her bare breasts, his thumbs brushing their rosy peaks until her knees began to weaken and she forgot in her own pleasure what she was trying to do to him.

He found the side zipper of her skirt and it slid with a whisper down her shapely thighs and delicate knees. When she was clad only in her lacy black tap pants, he swept her off her feet and tossed her gently onto the tall king-sized bed.

She inhaled sharply in surprise to find herself thus, but came up on her elbows to watch him finish undressing, her heart beating loudly in her ears. He wasn't self-conscious at all, obviously wanted to be naked with her on that bed as quickly as possible. He was as beautiful and tan as she'd imagined, arms and legs leanly muscled like one who spent a lot of time in the water.

"Do you surf?" she asked suddenly, an image of him riding the waves so strong in her mind that she knew it must be true.

He paused at the waistband of his boxer briefs to look up at her in surprise.

"Why yes, Miss Lisbon, I do when I can. How did you guess?"

"Maybe I'm psychic," she said saucily.

His lips quirked, and he held her eyes as he pulled his underwear down over the full bulge in front. Their smiles faded as desire shot through them both, and he walked with predatory intent back to the bed. He reached up and dragged her by her ankles across smooth silk to the edge of the bed, and, still standing on the floor, drew her legs apart. His hands slid up her legs to her trembling inner thighs, and he reached for the lace at her hips. She lifted so he could remove the final barrier between them, and he peered in awe at the carefully trimmed beauty he'd unwrapped. He felt himself grow impossibly hard.

He traced her softness with the fingers of one hand, watched as her eyes glazed over when he began to explore further, slipping one long digit inside her body, while his thumb circled the firm bud just above. A moment later, his mouth replaced his thumb.

"Ohhhh," she breathed, her hands going automatically to his hair. His scratchy whiskers lent an erotic contrast to the smoothness of his tongue and she nearly whimpered with each lavish swipe.

While her fingernails raked his scalp, he plundered her core with his tongue, tasting her honeyed sweetness, bringing her to the brink of madness and then beyond. Her cries rent the stillness of the room, and as her thighs clamped his head closer, he licked more deeply and she came apart again.

She released his head, her arms and legs going limp, her mind deliciously blank. With a final kiss to each silky thigh, he stood up straight and Lisbon heard the unmistakable sound of a tearing condom packet. A moment later, Jane found the small step stool at the side of the bed. He crawled over to lay naked beside her, a beatific smile on his face.

"Thank you for that," she said after a few minutes, when she could finally speak. "It's been a difficult week."

He chuckled at her understatement. "You're welcome. The pleasure was all...well, maybe not _all_ mine."

"I'll see you tomorrow in court, then," she said, and then yawned.

He turned his head to look at her, shocked he was being dismissed like some sort of… _gigolo_.

"What?" he said tightly.

And then she opened one eye and glanced over at his crestfallen face, her lips drawing into a smile that brought out her dimples. She was totally messing with him. No one else was ever able to do that. This woman did things to him he couldn't even begin to explain. All he knew was that he wanted her with a single-minded clarity he had never known before.

He cut off her bark of laughter by rolling on top of her, taking her breath away again as his naked body covered hers. He kissed her nearly senseless once more while she felt his hard fullness pressing eagerly against her stomach.

"Check mate," he whispered against her lips, just before he joined his body with hers.

She moaned as he moved within her, instantly reawakening her passion. They fell into an instinctive rhythm, perfectly in tune with the beating of their hearts, with the pattern of each shallow breath.

"My turn," she said suddenly, and he was happy to let her roll him to his back.

She moved achingly slowly at first, reveling in how completely he filled her, listening to the groans of pleasure he made each time she lifted nearly off of him and then lowered herself to the hilt once more. Their eyes locked, and his hands alternately molded to her waist or caressed her perfect breasts. He felt himself falling, losing control in a way he'd never really allowed himself. In truth, he would realize later, he had no choice but to succumb to her wild passion, to her beautiful body, to her undeniable power over him. His movements became frenetic toward the end, and for a few amazing moments he understood what the French meant by _le petite mort._ Had he actually died for a moment? Perhaps he had, and when Teresa fell upon him, sated, he had found Heaven.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Later, they ate cheese and crackers and wine in bed, since that was all that was in her kitchen besides a shriveled apple and sour milk. He had left her in search of sustenance, and she heard him berating her shopping habits as he opened the empty refrigerator and cupboards in disapproval.

"I'm kicking you out if you get crumbs in my sheets," she warned when he arrived with a plate piled high and a full glass of wine held precariously in one hand. He set the plate between them on the bed, before promptly stuffing a piece of cheddar between her lips. She chewed, thinking nothing had ever tasted better. He fed her a cracker, then a sip of wine, then a tender kiss. _No,_ she amended to herself, _his kisses are infinitely more delicious._

Jane stacked two slices of cheese on his own cracker, stuffing the whole thing in his mouth with one bite. He chewed methodically, watching in amusement as she picked crumbs from her cleavage just beneath her sheet. He was tempted to help her out with his tongue, but he was too hungry and too worn out to make the offer.

"I demand a rematch," she said between bites.

His eyebrows rose, and he spoke with his mouth half full. "Good God, woman, let a man recuperate a bit first before you start making demands." He was sitting cross-legged in his boxer briefs, his hair adorably mussed and falling boyishly over his forehead.

She blushed. "I meant the chess game. If you're staying all night, we may as well…"

He nodded. "Okay. I'll go get it."

"No, you just got back. Let me."

With another cracker halfway to his mouth, he stilled to watch as she folded back the comforter and climbed out of bed, completely naked. She wasn't exactly casual about it, hurrying toward her closet to retrieve a robe, but he enjoyed the view nonetheless, and seriously considered calling her back. He was in his forties and generally needed a little rejuvenation time before going for round two, but with Teresa, he might have underestimated himself. He glanced down at his crotch and grinned wryly. Speed chess. That was a thing, wasn't it?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

 _Much later…_

Lisbon mused idly, as she lay breathless and sweaty on her fine cotton sheets, that she would probably be stepping on plastic chessmen for weeks after that last game. At that very moment, she could feel the sharp point of a bishop's mitre pressing into her side. She supposed that's what she got for distracting him in the middle of a game: one minute she was losing, the next he'd swept the pieces off the board and taken her passionately in the middle of it. She smiled to herself, satisfied in more ways than one.

"So, do we call that a draw?" he asked weakly, and she heard him swear softly and toss a chess piece onto the floor.

"You _were_ winning," she countered.

"Which is why you were distracting me, of course."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He snorted. "Your big toe was halfway up one leg of my boxers, and your robe was open to your navel. I was definitely distracted. If you used such devious methods in court, you'd guarantee a conviction every time."

Lisbon's smile dimmed. He'd used the "c" word, and the reality of their situation came flooding back. They were being watched and listened to and followed and threatened. No matter how good he made her feel in this moment, it was only fleeting, and tomorrow all of it would return with a vengeance. She sat up and grabbed her discarded robe. Jane realized his mistake at once.

He reached for her from his side of the big bed. "Hey, I'm sorry for bringing it up. Where are you going?"

"To take a shower."

"May I join you?"

"I need a minute," she said sadly, and she left him for the en suite bathroom. A few moments later, he heard the water running.

"Dammit," he said to the ceiling. He gave her _five_ minutes, and then he followed her, determined to make her forget the outside world that was filled with serial killers and court cases. Hell could very well break loose tomorrow, so they might only have this night. He was determined to make the most of it.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Because Ray Haffner's body was found on the grounds of the State Capitol, the CBI was immediately called in to investigate. The sun was just coming up as Cho and Rigsby observed how Haffner had been slumped over the steering wheel of his car in the south parking lot. CSI had taken all the pictures they'd needed from the initial crime scene, and now, as Haffner was hoisted by two burly coroner techs onto a gurney, Cho noticed the dried vomit and foam around his mouth, noted similar spots upon his shirt. The way his face was still contorted, it had obviously been a painful death. More pictures from CSI, then the body was zipped into a standard black bag.

"Looks like poison," said Rigsby, taking a bite of the kruller he'd grabbed on the way out of the office. In the other hand he held a Styrofoam cup of terrible breakroom coffee.

"Yeah," agreed Cho.

"Hey, wasn't Haffner lead council on Sheriff McAllister's case?"

Cho nodded. "Yep. Call the DA's office. Let them know what happened."

Rigsby's face brightened before he could help it. Grace Van Pelt had been prosecuting this case. Not that he needed an excuse to call her, of course. They'd been texting every day since—

"Quit smiling," said Cho. "This isn't good news, especially if he was murdered. Let's hope there isn't a mistrial."

Rigsby took his phone from his pocket. "Sorry, Boss."

"Shit," said Cho under his breath. The body hadn't been carved up at least, but he'd bet a year of Rigsby's fast food budget that Red John was behind this mess.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

From a great distance it seemed, Lisbon heard her cell phone ringing. Something heavy and very warm inhibited her movements, and she struggled to wakefulness.

"Your phone's ringing," came a masculine rumble near her ear. Her eyes opened wide, and she shoved Jane over to his side of the bed. She fumbled for her phone on the nightstand, squinting to see that it was Grace calling.

"Hello," she said, on the fifth ring.

"Teresa. Sorry so early. Thought you're usually up by now."

"Long night," she mumbled, sitting up. Beside her, Jane grinned. She swatted his wandering hand away. "What's up?" When he began to laugh at his sophomoric interpretation of that expression, she threw her pillow at him to muffle the sound.

"It's Ray Haffner," she said. "Wayne Rigsby just called me. Capitol police found him dead in his car this morning. CBI is on the scene. Wayne says it looks like it was poison."

"What?"

Jane had heard both sides of the conversation and he was sitting up now, his expression grim. He caught Lisbon's terror-stricken eyes, and he reached for her hand. It was like ice.

"Can't tell yet whether it was suicide," Van Pelt continued. "What do you think this means for the trial?"

When Jane's warm hand squeezed hers, she felt a wave of serenity wash over her. He had this way about him, a soothing calmness, and she wondered not for the first time if he had hypnotic powers.

"Teresa?" Lisbon hadn't answered right away, but now she took a deep breath and managed to pull herself together.

"I don't know. It could be a mistrial, or postponed till a new lead attorney can be assigned or picked by McAllister. Or maybe Partridge will take first chair. We'll just have to show up in court and hear what the judge has to say."

"A mistrial?" repeated Grace in horror.

"Don't get too worried yet. I'll see you in court."

"Okay."

"Thanks for calling, Grace."

They said their goodbyes and Lisbon turned again to Jane.

"I've got to call my boss, Ardilles," she told him.

A five minute conversation confirmed her belief that the trial was still a go as far as the DA's office was concerned. Whether it continued depended on the judge. When she disconnected, Jane was already out of bed and searching the floor for his haphazardly discarded clothes.

"We'd better get going," he said.

Jane's mind was racing. That poison had been meant for Red John. This could only mean one thing: McAllister had somehow seen it coming.

"You think McAllister did this?" asked Lisbon, echoing his thoughts. Her voice muffled as she went into her walk-in closet. She came out and laid a pant suit on the bed.

"Yes," he said simply. She met his eyes, but said no more. She went into the bathroom, and he heard water running in the sink.

Jane slipped on his trousers, found his shirt and pulled his hands through the sleeves. When he tried to button it, however, he found that only the very top button and the very bottom remained. He remembered Lisbon tearing his shirt apart in passion, and he almost smiled, but then he felt a sudden, overwhelming rage.

Red John had tainted this incredible night with Teresa, had killed the man Jane had hoped would kill _him._ If Red John knew about Haffner's ties to Stiles, it wasn't much of a leap to believe he would discover Jane's own past association. If that happened…he didn't want to contemplate it.

He found his suit jacket in the hallway and put it on over his loosely hanging shirt. Oh well, he thought. If the spies outside wanted a show of proof, this would be it. There was nothing to do now but to face McAllister in court, pretend that he was still playing the game, bide his time until the killer made his next move.

Jane's heated anger turned to ice cold resolve. Anger made people reckless, he thought, more prone to mistakes. Once he saw McAllister's demeanor, he trusted himself to know his next step, but he'd have to remain calm to recognize it.

"Patrick?" Lisbon called from her room. She peered out into the hall to see him standing barefoot, his buttonless shirt gaping open. This was the first time she had ever used his first name, and a tenderness filled his heart.

She walked over to him, sheepishly fingered the placket of the damaged shirt. "Sorry about this. I'll pay to have it fixed, or buy you a new—"

But her sentence was cut off by his kiss, hard and swift and hot, like a branding.

"This is all my fault," he whispered as he released her mouth. "I'll take care of it."

Obviously they were no longer talking about his shirt. Her eyes narrowed.

"What did you do, Jane?"

So it wasn't _Patrick_ anymore, he mused morosely. That was fast.

"Don't worry about it. I need to go by my hotel room and change, and I'll see you at the courthouse. But I want you to call your friend Cho. Get him to send someone to escort you. Please, Teresa."

Her first instinct was to refuse, but what she saw in his eyes made her nod. "Okay. But next time I see you, I want the truth. If you know what happened to Haffner, as the ADA, I need to know."

"And as your lover?" he asked, his tone serious. She took a shuddering breath, but spoke forthrightly.

"If you don't tell me the truth, we're done."

He nodded, and she hated the conflict she saw behind that sea-green gaze, hated that she suspected he'd done something very stupid. He kissed her again, gently this time, before returning to her bedroom to find his shoes.

"I'll see you later," he told her from the front door.

"Be careful," she said.

Their eyes met, speaking the things for them that they could not say aloud.

"You too," he replied, and then he was gone.

Lisbon stood in the middle of her living room for a few moments, her emotions a jumble. From her bedroom she heard her phone ring, and she trotted back to pick it up. It was Cho. He'd saved her the trouble of calling.

 **A/N: Thanks for reading. My thoughts and prayers go out to the victims and their loved ones in the Las Vegas massacre.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Thank you again for reading and reviewing, and for your well wishes for my health. I am doing much better now, and didn't end up needing a surgery I had expected to. Long story short: I was feeling up to writing this week. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

 **Chapter 8**

"Your Honor," said Brett Partridge, "if it please the court, my client would like to proceed with me as his lead counsel."

Judge Louisa Marks considered Partridge's request, sizing up the demeanor of Sheriff McAllister, who sat beside the attorney, wearing a department store suit and a benign expression.

"Mr. McAllister, I would like to hear directly from you please. Would you like Mr. Partridge to continue in your defense? I understand the death of Mr. Haffner might have come as a shock to you, and if you need time to gather your thoughts on the matter, I will grant a continuance…"

McAllister rose and spoke in his usual slow drawl. "Your honor, while I am saddened by the loss of Ray—Mr. Haffner, I am confident Mr. Partridge is up to the job."

Partridge tried and failed to hide his quick smile at McAllister's public approval.

The judge nodded, then turned to Lisbon. "Does the State have any objections to continuing this case, even though the defense's lead attorney's death is the subject of an ongoing investigation?"

"No, your honor," she replied. "The State is very interested in giving the people a speedy trial. We accept Mr. Partridge as the sheriff's lead counsel."

Judge Marks banged her gavel once. "Very well. Ms. Lisbon, you may proceed with your next witness."

Lisbon risked a glance over at Jane, whom she'd noticed earlier had been hurriedly scribbling on a yellow legal pad. She saw him pass it to Partridge, who frowned, gave Jane a dirty look, and pushed the pad to the side in favor of his own notes.

Jane shrugged and sat back in his chair, his elbows on the arm rests, his long index fingers steepled at his lower lip. An image of what he'd done to her with those fingers and that mouth mere hours before made her heart leap and her body tremble. Hoping her face wasn't as flushed as she felt, she forced her gaze back to her witness, a deputy sheriff who had witnessed suspicious behavior on McAllister's part.

Halfway through Partridge's cross-examination, he began to fumble, his voice stuttering slightly, and he seemed at a loss as to what to ask next. In desperation, he picked up Jane's legal pad. As Lisbon listened to Partridge, she almost smiled. Jane had made Partridge look totally inept with his pointless questions, and she easily destroyed him on her re-direct. As the judge dismissed court till after lunch, McAllister did not look happy, and Partridge looked in fear for his life.

The moment McAllister was escorted out of the court room, Jane had disappeared. She felt the buzz of an incoming text.

 _I have an idea._

 _What?_ she texted back.

 _Don't worry. Just think about that rematch you promised me._

She blushed anew, and hastily dropped her phone back in her pocket. But then she had the good sense to worry about what Jane's "idea" might be.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane took the elevator up one floor to what he suspected were court house offices. As he walked leisurely down the hall, he glanced into the glass walled offices until he found one that was empty. Drawing on years as a conman, he acted with purpose, as if he actually belonged in the office of the court clerk. The fact that it was the lunch hour and most of the office was out was a bonus, and no one questioned him as he slipped inside and hastily closed the door, then the blinds. He'd needed a clean phone and some privacy.

After getting the number through Information, he was connected to the local CBI office.

"Agent Kimball Cho, please," he told the CBI operator.

He was connected at once, and he listened impatiently as the line rang once, then twice, then a third time before the clipped voice of Lisbon's friend came on the line.

"Cho."

"Agent Cho, this is Patrick Jane. Sorry to bother you, but I knew Teresa had called you this morning—"

"She didn't call," said Cho. "Or if she did, I didn't get the message. I was out in the field." He took out his phone and saw that, sure enough, there was a text and a missed phone call from Lisbon. He'd been so involved with Haffner's death he had ignored his phone.

Jane was taken aback. "No one escorted her to the courthouse this morning?"

"No. Why?" Cho's voice turned even colder with concern.

He'd just returned from Ray Haffner's crime scene, and he was impatient to learn whether or not the lawyer's death had been a suicide. Knowing his involvement with McAllister, he doubted it. Now what the hell was going on on this front? Had Lisbon's plan with Jane gone south?

 _Dammit, Teresa_ , thought Jane angrily. Well, now she'd left him no choice. Like it or not, she needed protection.

"A couple nights ago, Red John abducted me with Ray Haffner's help."

"You sure it was him?"  
"No doubt, even though he covered my head and tried to disguise his voice. He said he was a friend of McAllister's. He'd been watching me, was suspicious of my interactions with Teresa. I convinced him that I was just trying to uh, seduce information out of her to help in McAllister's case. I think he believed me, because he let me go."

There was a pause as Cho absorbed this information, and Jane could almost hear the man's brain working.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Teresa didn't want me to. She thought the trial would be disrupted if the CBI got involved. She wanted our plan to have a chance to work." He chose not to mention that Red John had threatened Lisbon's life. Besides, that was probably obvious, since Jane had already let slip the purpose of her calls this morning.

"Haffner's dead," Cho stated ominously.

"I know. I'm betting McAllister poisoned him."

"Why?"

Jane sighed. _In for a penny…_

"Because he likely found out Haffner was a member of the New Age religious group, Visualize, Red John's direct competition."

"Competition? For what? Murder victims?"

"No, said Jane. "Cult members." Jane looked up, heard talking just on the other side of the door. He was about to have company. "Look, I'll explain all of that later. Don't do anything yet about stopping McAllister. Let him get out tonight, watch where he goes from the jailhouse. You can't link McAllister to Haffner's death unless you can prove he can get out. I've put a plan in motion, and I have a feeling he'll be paying me a visit. At the very least, you can add charges of breaking out of jail, and maybe discover others in his network who are helping him."

"I don't like this, Jane. What if he kills someone else while he's out? Say, someone like Lisbon, or _you_ , for example?" Though Jane wondered if Cho would care too much were _Jane_ Red John's next victim.

Jane's voice turned bright. "Have a little faith in yourself, Agent Cho. You'll be there to stop him before that happens. And I'll see to it that Teresa is safe. Oops! Gotta go!"

Jane hung up the phone just as the court clerk opened the door.

"May I help you?" the man said, his annoyed tone belying his polite words.

"Oh, sorry. My cell phone died, and I needed to use a phone. Remember when there used to be pay phones? In my opinion, they died a very premature death. I mean, you never know-"

"Well this is a private office."

"Yes, sorry. I'll just be going."

Jane felt the weight of the clerk's angry stare all the way out the door.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

Cho sat heavily in his office chair, closing his eyes and rubbing his face in a rare show of frustration. He'd known this Patrick Jane person would be trouble the moment he saw him in the parking lot with Lisbon. But Cho wanted Red John behind bars so much he'd taken the risk of trusting a conman, and now he feared for a friend's life because of it. Cho had no one to blame but himself for that, but now Jane was offering trouble on one hand and Red John's head on the other. It was an easy choice. If he could link McAllister to Haffner's murder, maybe there was hope that he could in turn link McAllister to Red John. If what Jane said was true, Cho couldn't risk sniffing around the jailhouse, tipping McAllister off so that he didn't try to leave. Like it or not, Jane's plan seemed to make the most sense. But Cho knew he couldn't do this alone.

He picked up the phone and punched in Rigsby's extension. Even though Cho had come up in the ranks with Rigsby, then surpassed him, they were still close friends, and Rigsby's good nature had never allowed him to resent Cho's accomplishments. In time, Cho had no doubt Rigsby could have a command of his own—if he'd focus on his career more than the women and working out at the gym. But Rigsby might not be willing to sacrifice a home and family and put everything into his job, not to the extent that Cho had. Cho had made that choice early on, and Rigsby had yet to fully commit. He supposed time would tell.

"Hey," Cho said into the phone. "You up for an all-nighter? Off the books?"

The _off the books_ part didn't even phase Rigsby, owing much to his deep loyalty and trust of their friendship. Instead, his only question was: "Are there snacks involved?"

Cho's dimples flashed, but his voice remained dry. "As long as it isn't Mexican again. I'm not spending all night in a car suffering _those_ consequences."

Rigsby laughed. "Burgers it is then. Your treat."

Cho sighed in mock annoyance. "Fine. We'll leave after work. And this is black ops." This was their code for dressing all in black and coming fully armed and loaded. Cho had great respect for the law, but he wasn't above manipulating events in his free time. Nothing illegal, but he'd done things in the past that would be frowned upon by the CBI Director. Best to keep the higher-ups in the dark, let them think that when everything came together for an arrest, it was some sort of miraculous event.

"What's up, Boss?" Rigsby asked, suddenly all business.

"I'll tell you later."

Rigsby didn't question him further. But once Cho explained to his friend what was really going on, there'd be _a lot_ of questions. Cho only hoped Rigsby's loyalty would extend to allowing a serial killer to go free.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As the trial continued in the afternoon, Jane could almost feel the fury emanating from McAllister. Partridge had obviously had an earful during the lunch break, and he seemed shaken and wholly off his game when cross-examining Lisbon's next witness. Lisbon ran circles around him, and everyone watched as the jury's glances at the defendant turned cold and resentful. Jane had no doubt where McAllister was putting all the blame, and he suppressed a trickle of fear. This was a dangerous game, but Haffner's murder had changed everything. There was a chance now to pin this on McAllister, to get him in jail for life rather than mere months. With Agent Cho's help, maybe they could even get him to admit he was Red John.

 _Meet me at O'Malley's,_ texted Jane to Lisbon when court was dismissed at five.

 _OK,_ she replied.

He got to his car first, and sat inside, watching as Lisbon made her way to her Mustang. If Cho was watching McAllister, well Jane would watch Lisbon. He took his handgun from his glove box and set it on the seat beside him. He followed her closely, and she nodded to him in her rearview mirror. At O'Malley's she walked in alone, but he followed soon after, his gun now in his suitcoat pocket. It still wouldn't do for anyone from her office to see her fraternizing with a member of the defense team, so he joined her in the back part of the pub in a dimly lit booth.

They each ordered a beer.

He reached under the table for her hand, giving it a squeeze of comfort and longing.

"I want you to hang out tonight at the police station or the CBI," he told her. "I'm expecting Red John to come after me tonight, after what I did to sabotage their case this afternoon."

"Why did you do that?" she asked anxiously. "That was really stupid."

"Because I can help Cho prove that he killed Haffner, but the only way to do that is if we can first prove that McAllister is able to get out of his cell at night."

"Wait—what do you know about Haffner's death?"

He quickly explained his relationship with Bret Stiles, as well as Haffner's. He hesitated about telling her the reason he'd gone to see Stiles the day before, but already she seemed to know him better than anyone else ever had.

"What aren't you telling me, Patrick?" she asked.

He stared at her, enjoying these last few moments where she didn't hate him, didn't see him as a monster.

"I asked Bret for some poison to kill McAllister." She gasped and sat back against the booth seat, but he looked steadily into her eyes with a mixture of apology and resolve. He was sorry to have had to tell her, but not sorry about what he had planned to do.

"He threatened you, Teresa, and I couldn't stand the fact that even if he was convicted, he could still get out and kill if he wanted to. Our plan might have worked, but it would have been for nothing. He has too many people working for him within the legal system."

"So you were just going to murder him," she stated bleakly.

"Yes. Put the poison in his coffee."

Her hands came up and covered her eyes, and he felt his heart lurch to think she was crying over what he had done, or had almost done. When she removed her hands, he was relieved to see she hadn't fallen apart, but her eyes were definitely watery with emotion.

"I get it," she whispered. "But it would have been wrong."

"Maybe, but Haffner took my place, and he's dead because of it. Had either of us succeeded, I wouldn't have been sorry, Teresa. I don't blame you for your disappointment, but there are some things in life that are bigger than manmade laws. You respect and admire the beauty of our justice system, but you know that it fails sometimes. You said as much when we first met. That poison was my insurance policy, but now McAllister likely knows everything, or at least suspects. I spoke to Cho earlier. He knows about my abduction the other night, suspects like I do that McAllister killed Haffner. He's watching the jail tonight, and I'm going to make myself available for another kidnapping. He's pretty pissed off at me right now; he'll want to have a few words."

"What? You're using yourself as bait for a serial killer? No. I won't let you do that, not alone."

Jane smiled gently. "You don't have any choice. I'm following you to the police station, or somewhere else we both agree is safe."

She stopped arguing with him, and Jane raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "And Cho was onboard with this hairbrained scheme of yours?" she asked instead.

"Yes, though I doubt he's too worried about _my_ life," Jane said wryly. "But don't get any funny ideas of your own, sweetheart. Cho will be there to stop Red John, and you'll be far from harm's way. Funny, I barely know the guy, but I trust his competence completely."

Their beers arrived and Teresa drank most of hers in one fortifying gulp. He took a sip and watched idly as she delicately wiped away foam from her mouth with a paper napkin. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to kiss it off her mouth himself, to taste how the bitterness of the beer mixed with her innate sweetness.

She was going to try to rebel against his plan, he knew it by the obstinate set of her chin. He was tempted to kidnap her himself, bind and gag her and leave her someplace safe. Later, he'd have the pleasure of untying her when Red John was safely dead. The thought of that reunion made his body stir with desire.

Jane drank more of his beer, munched on the pretzels from the bowl in the middle of their table, watched her eyes as she attempted to avoid looking at him.

"This is stupid and dangerous," she said at last, "You're no cop; you have no idea what you're doing. I think you should come with me wherever I'm hiding."

Jane smiled and shook his head. "They're watching me, Teresa, Red John's men. They're watching us both. If I run or hide, McAllister won't leave his cell tonight. You're with the DA's office. It won't be so strange for you to have to go to the police station, and even if he has cronies there, I think there are enough good cops that you'll be safe."

When her mouth still formed a stubborn line, he risked reaching across the table to openly take her hand. "Please, Teresa. Do it for me. For—for _us_."

Her eyes met his at that, and he knew in that moment that he wasn't just saying there was an "us" to get her to go. He really wanted to explore what they could be together.

"Patrick," she began, but whatever she was going to say died in her throat, and she closed her eyes a moment and held tightly to his hand. "Okay, I'll go," she said at last, and he actually believed her. "But you have to promise me you'll be careful."

"I will."

They finished their beers in silence and as soon as Jane paid the waitress, they left the pub together. It had grown darker, and Jane walked her to her car. "I'll follow you again," he said, "and when you're safely inside the police station, I'll head back to my hotel where they'll be sure to find me."

No longer caring who saw, Lisbon threw her arms around him, holding his body tightly to hers. She breathed him in, slid her fingers into the curls at his nape, and said a silent prayer:

 _God, please keep him safe._

He leaned away from her a little, then, lifting up her chin, he looked deeply into her eyes. Before she could utter a word, he was pressing his lips to hers. Their passion of the night before quickly reignited and he kissed her as if it were the last time, as indeed it might well be. Neither of them had been brave enough to voice their feelings, but they were both aware that this kiss, perfect and beautiful, was filled with an exquisite depth of emotion neither had ever shared with another.

They were so wrapped up in each other that they didn't notice the dark van that had pulled up behind the Mustang, blocking them from view of the pub. Suddenly, they were pulled violently apart, a cotton pillowcase thrown over each of their heads, before they were pushed inside the sliding door of the van. It tore quickly out of the parking lot. Everything had happened so fast that neither of them had had a chance to yell. Jane's hand went immediately to his pocket, but the big guy who'd wrestled him inside discovered the gun, and soon Jane felt his own weapon pointing at his temple. He heard Lisbon struggling against her captives, heard her cry out in pain. Beneath the cloth, Jane saw red.

"Be still or you both die," ordered a rough voice.

"Touch her again and _you_ will," Jane growled. He supposed he should have expected the blow to the head, but before he could reconsider his threat, he crumpled to the floor of the van, unconscious.

The van sped on into the night.

 **A/N: How will they get out of this one? I'll try not to leave you on the cliff too long. Thanks for reading.**


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Thanks for your patience in waiting for this chapter. Life seems to be happening to me a lot lately, lol. But I am well and rested and ready to get this story going again.

 **Chapter 9**

Beneath the pillowcase, Lisbon gasped as one of her captors punched her in the stomach. She'd fought like a wet cat before the distinct sound of the butt of a gun cracking hard against a head, then the heaviness of a body slumping on the metal floor of the van. She could no longer hear Jane fighting, and he certainly issued no more threats. They'd knocked him out and for the moment she was by herself in this. She'd struggled and cussed and managed to land a solid, satisfying kick to a groin before the punch came, and she was brought to her knees as two strong hands bound her wrists behind her with zip ties. They pushed her ungently down on her rump before binding her ankles.

The van stopped at an intersection, and she considered yelling in the hope that a nearby car might hear her, but she reconsidered. Already she was short of breath and her stomach muscles pained her with each inhalation. A gag or tape across her mouth was the last thing she wanted at the moment. Instead, she sat on the floor of the van, panting with exertion and pain.

Her mind racing, she alternately worried about Jane and wondered what Cho would do when he discovered they were missing. He would feel compelled to confess everything if it meant saving her; that's just the kind of man he was. He would know he would have to ask for help in this, request the aid of the local police, get the CBI involved. Both their careers would be ruined because she had been stupid enough to mess with a serial killer.

And then there was Jane. She prayed he wasn't seriously hurt on the floor beside her, though when Red John got hold of them, a bump on the head and a punch to the gut would mean nothing compared to the torture she was certain they'd soon face. She felt the cold sweat of fear beneath her blouse, felt sick even beyond her recent injury, but she refused to give in to either emotion.

"Where are you taking us?" she asked.

"Shut up," came the clipped command. "Or I'll kick your boyfriend's teeth out."

She believed him, and so she kept quiet, her mind now focused on the only thing that could help them now: prayer.

Xxxxxxxxxx

"You really think he's getting out tonight?" asked Rigsby, finishing the last of his French fries. True to his word, Cho had driven through Rigsby's favorite burger joint, and they'd both eaten as they parked within sight of the county jailhouse entrance where McAllister was being kept during the trial. So far, nothing unusual had happened, and no one had come or gone within the last half hour. It was getting darker, and Cho felt on edge. For one thing, Lisbon hadn't responded to any of his texts, and the expected call from Jane updating him on both his and Lisbon's locations hadn't come.

"I don't know," he responded to his friend. "But something doesn't feel right about this whole thing."

"I couldn't tell you one way or the other," said Rigsby. "But it would help me to understand if you told me why we're here and who we're waiting for."

Cho sighed, glanced at his partner who was wiping his greasy hands on a napkin, then brushing wayward crumbs off the black Kevlar vest he wore. He supposed if he was asking for Rigsby to risk his life, he owed him the truth. It wasn't as if he didn't trust the man; Cho just didn't want him to risk his career. At this point, Rigsby could still claim ignorance and say he was just following orders.

"You sure you want to know?" There was no doubt in Cho's tone the seriousness of their situation; but he would give Rigsby a clear choice.

Rigsby was no fool, but neither did he like the thought of dying without at least knowing what he was giving his life for.

"Yeah," he said.

And so Cho filled him in, told him everything from his suspicions about McAllister to working with Lisbon and Patrick Jane. Rigsby was understandably shocked, but he recognized the altruism in what Cho was doing. He'd been to Red John murder scenes, had witnessed the horrific conditions of the young women's bodies. If flying under the legal radar would take this monster out, well Wayne Rigsby was all in.

They'd spent the next two hours in relative silence, save for the sound of Rigsby munching from a bag of cheese puffs and reaching into the back seat for a can of Coke from a small ice chest. Cho poured hot coffee from a Thermos into his travel mug and settled in. Suddenly, Cho stiffened in alert. A dark van pulled up in front of the jailhouse, and a uniformed guard hopped out of the side door, though from this angle Cho couldn't see inside. Cho put his binoculars to his eyes and focused on the big man, whom he didn't recognize, then to the driver. His eyes widened to see that Bret Partridge was driving. He wore a dark baseball cap and matching overalls, but there was no mistaking the attorney's weaselly face.

"This is it," said Cho, and Rigsby tossed the empty bag into the back in readiness. But no one else came out of the van, and no one was escorted back in. It didn't even pull around to the back to pick up McAllister from a different entrance; instead, Partridge drove out of the parking lot and back toward the street.

"What the-?" he muttered under his breath.

Cho started his Charger and followed.

"I thought you said McAllister would be escaping," said Rigsby, nearly as confused.

"Yeah, that was the idea." Cho turned on the engine and followed the van at a safe distance.

He stayed behind the van through late evening traffic, dodging skillfully around other vehicles, though using his years of training and experience not to tip Partridge off. It wasn't long till they got off the freeway, taking a familiar exit. This was where things became trickier, but fortunately there was another car between the van and Cho's, partially blocking their view. But when Partridge turned down a street Cho had visited on a couple of occasions, he had the sneaking suspicion where they were going.

"This is Lisbon's street," he said to Rigsby.

"You think they're looking for her at her home? She's supposed to be hiding."

"Yeah," said Cho, his brow knit, perplexed.

He hung back nearly a block's length, then, when he saw the van stop in front of Lisbon's apartment building he parked on the street, turned off the lights, and he and Rigsby hunkered down to watch. His left hand rested on the door handle, his right on his sidearm; Rigsby did the opposite on his side of the car. Once more, the van's side door opened, and while they watched in horror, a person with a dark hood over their head was pushed out, landing hard before rolling a few times on the sidewalk.

"Jesus!" exclaimed Rigsby, and Cho turned on the headlights, flooring the Charger toward the van, just as it roared away. Cho stopped in front of the person, who wasn't moving, but he knew in an instant it was Lisbon.

"Take care of her," he ordered Rigsby.

Rigsby jumped out, but Cho didn't stay to watch, his eyes on the corner ahead where the van had turned. He pressed hard on the gas pedal, no doubt leaving black marks on the street as he raced to follow the van. He hoped Partridge hadn't seen him, that he'd slowed down once he felt no one was following. He turned right, then, at the end of the block, he saw the van driving through a yellow light. Cho was five cars behind, with no side streets or parking lots to maneuver through and catch up. He was stuck at a red light, and the goddamn van was getting away. He pounded angrily on the steering wheel as he watched the van sail into the night.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane came to with a groan, and for a moment, he imagined he was in bed with Teresa. He could smell the sweet scent of her nearby, and he reveled in it, remembering the warmth of her soft skin, the sounds she made when she- but as the van hit a speed bump he was literally jolted back to reality. A blinding pain shot through his brain, and he thought surely he was going to be sick. He tried to bring his hands up to press against the pain, but they were bound behind his back, and the pillow case over his head felt suffocating. He swallowed back his nausea; it wouldn't do to throw up inside his hood.

"Teresa," he said weakly.

"She's gone," came the gruff reply.

Of course, he immediately assumed that meant she was dead, and he felt tears of grief come to his eyes. "No," he cried, and began to struggle, but a sharp kick to the thigh had the desired effect, and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, his body going limp. The thought came that if Teresa were dead, his own life no longer mattered. Maybe it was the head wound talking, but for the first time in his life, Jane felt himself giving up.

"Are we going back to meet with your boss?" Jane ventured, after feeling the van accelerate as it merged onto the freeway.

"No," came the disembodied voice, "you'll be hidden for safekeeping. If your girlfriend doesn't come through for us, you'll both be dead."

Relief swept over him like warm sunlight. _She wasn't dead. Yet._

"Where is she?"

"We uh, just dropped her off at home," said his captor, and Jane didn't miss the hint of amusement in his tone. From the front of the van, Jane heard a familiar, unctuous laugh—Partridge.

"Like I said before, you hurt her, and I'll kill you."

"Knock yourself out—no, wait—I already helped you with that." And this time, both of them laughed at his joke.

Well at least Teresa wasn't dead, he thought gratefully. And his captors could laugh all they wanted; Patrick Jane still had something to live for.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Cho drove around the residential area for a half-hour before giving up, knowing with a heavy heart that if they'd made it to the freeway, they were long gone. He drove back to Lisbon's apartment building, parked on the street, and rode the elevator to her floor. Rigsby answered the door, gun drawn, before Cho identified himself and he let him in.

Lisbon was sitting on her couch, a cup of tea on the coffee table. She'd changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt, her alabaster skin even paler after her ordeal, and she held a package of frozen peas to her temple. She had a few scrapes on her arms that he could see, but he was pleased she seemed relatively okay.

"I tried to get her to go to the hospital, but she refused," said Rigsby.

"I'm fine," she insisted. "Just got a little banged up when they pushed me onto the sidewalk. Did you find Jane?"

"Jane?" said Cho in surprise. _Dammit!_ "He was in the van?"

"Yes. They took both of us in front of O'Malley's. They knocked Jane out with his own gun, then tied me up. I couldn't see anything with that hood on. We stopped somewhere quiet—maybe in a park or by the river—and then they put Red John on speaker phone to talk to me."

He saw her shiver at the memory, and he sat down next to her on the couch. So, McAllister had stayed in jail that night after all; at least they hadn't missed him.

"What did he say?" Cho asked.

"He said that tomorrow, I was to tell the judge the state was dropping its charges, that we'd made a mistake and McAllister was free to go. If I don't"—she swallowed, and her eyes filled—"they'll kill Jane."

Cho glanced at Rigsby, whose blue eyes reflected Cho's same thoughts: they would likely kill Jane either way.

"I'm not sure we can do this alone anymore," said Cho. "We need the manpower and the surveillance network of the CBI, and the Sac PD."

"But Red John said if the police get involved, we're both dead."

"Of course he'd say that," said Rigsby. "He's trying to scare you into doing what he wants. We've handled loads of kidnapping cases. They always say no cops."

"And have you gotten back everyone who's been kidnapped?" she asked bleakly. "Alive?"

Rigsby had no comforting answer for that. The odds were that about eighty percent of kidnap victims made it home alive. And those that did—mentally, many were never the same.

"Trust me, Teresa," said Cho. In a rare expression of physical comfort, he put his strong, warm hand over hers. "We'll find him. But you know the other risk we're taking now. Be ready for our careers to go down the tubes when the truth comes out."

Lisbon met his eyes. "Can we save Jane, and still get Red John?"

"That's the plan," said Cho.

"Well then it will be worth it."

"We have some more evidence against McAllister, though," Cho continued. "Partridge, his lawyer, was driving the van tonight."

Lisbon's eyes widened. "You saw him?"

"We both did," said Rigsby. "That's not gonna look good for McAllister."

"Before we bring in the rest of the CBI, aren't there some other things we can try on our own first?" Lisbon asked hopefully. "Maybe there are still some guards in lockup that aren't on McAllister's payroll. Maybe we can get access to security cameras at the jail showing how he was snuck out."

"That's gonna be the trick though," said Cho. "Who can we trust? If Jane's right and Red John's influence goes deep, we may just be stirring up a hornet's nest."

He was quiet a moment, his mind racing at possibilities. Maybe he wouldn't have to lose his job—not yet anyway. Finally, a thought occurred. "I know a guy who might be able to hack into security systems, maybe even traffic cameras so we can see where the van went. If we can find Jane, maybe Rigsby and I can get him out ourselves. If there are too many of them, if their hideout is too protected, we'll call in reinforcements."

"First thing we should do, Boss," Rigsby suggested, "is find out where Partridge lives."

Cho nodded. Under Cho's interrogation, that little weasel would crack like a walnut. He stood up, grateful there was a new plan in play that still might let him avoid losing his job.

"Pack a bag," he said to Lisbon. "You're not staying here. The CBI has a safehouse no one's occupying now. It's always stocked and ready for a few days' stay. It's got a good security system that'll contact me directly if there's a breach. You should be safe there."

"What about court tomorrow? McAllister will be expecting me to be there. Hell, everyone will."

"I'm hoping things will be resolved by then. If not, we'll figure out our next step in the morning."

Rigsby had been busy on his phone, trying to see if he could discover Brett Partridge's address. "He's unlisted, and his law firm's website doesn't list home addresses. I'll need to get into the CBI database."

"I'll drop you off at the office then," said Cho. And then he got out his own phone to call his hacker friend.

Teresa got up from the couch, still a bit unsteady, and a little slow since she ached everywhere from her ordeal. On the way past the kitchen, she tossed the bag of peas in the trash before heading to her room. She stood a moment, gazing at the bed where she and Jane had made love the night before, glancing at the bathroom where he'd taken her against the wall of the shower—had it only been early that morning? She hadn't had time to make the bed, and on impulse, she picked up the pillow where he'd laid his head. It still smelled of him, and she felt her throat tighten and the tears threaten once more.

"Don't give up, Patrick," she whispered into the pillow. "We'll find you."

Wiping at her tears with the back of her hand, she went to the closet and pulled out her overnight bag.

 **A/N: Thanks for reading. More soon!**


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: No, I haven't forgotten this story. Forgive me for leaving you hanging so long. I hope this chapter was worth the wait. Thanks to those who continue to read and review.

 **Chapter 10**

As Lisbon put the last of her things into her bag, she found herself reliving her conversation with Jane at O'Malley's earlier. There was someone else who knew about this situation, whom Jane had trusted enough to ask for help in killing a man. Maybe, given what Jane had said about this man's past relationship with McAllister, he would have some ideas about where Jane might be, or how they could stop McAllister.

She sat heavily on her bed a moment as she tried to remember exactly what Jane had told her about this man. He was the leader of the cult, Visualize, that much had clearly stayed with her. And his name was…coincidentally the same as Partridge's, she remembered: _Bret_. Bret… _Stiles_. Yes, she was fairly certain that was his last name, though a quick search on the internet would easily confirm the name of Visualize's New Age guru. If she used Jane's name, maybe she would be able to get through to speak to him. It was worth a try. She took out her smart phone.

At that moment, Cho lightly tapped on the half-open door of her bedroom.

"You about ready?"

"Yeah, come in." Her eyes were shining now with a glimmer of new hope.

"Before you drop me off at the safehouse, I have another angle I want to try. While you're going after Partridge, I want to try and reach a mutual friend of Patrick's and McAllister's. Well, _friend_ might not be an accurate description, but anyway—he might have some insight about where McAllister is keeping Jane."

"Who?"

"You've heard of that cult, Visualize?"

Cho frowned. Jane had mentioned Red John's relationship to Visualize, had said he'd tell him more later. He supposed Lisbon felt the need now to fill in a few more blanks. The CBI had had the religious compound on their radar for some time, mainly dealing with fraud, but there were unsubstantiated allegations that Visualize might be involved in more nefarious activities.

"Yeah," he replied. "Why?"

She briefly explained Jane's relationship to Stiles, and what little she knew of Stiles's relationship with McAllister. She hesitated at first telling Cho that Jane had contemplated murder, but since that plan had fallen through, she thought it best to tell him everything.

"So that poison that killed Haffner was meant for McAllister?" said Cho. Jane had conveniently left out that important tidbit. He felt suddenly pissed off for being left so long out of the loop.

"According to Jane, yes."

"Jesus," Cho muttered under his breath. Then he looked at Lisbon directly. "How do we know we can trust Stiles? Maybe _he_ was the one who killed Haffner."

"Jane trusted him. And look, if you can't find Partridge, or get anything out of him, we've got no other leads in finding Jane. I think it's worth a try."

Cho thought about it a moment, and made a gut decision. "Okay, look up the number and call him on the way. Rigsby and I need to track down Partridge as soon as we can. Since McAllister didn't leave the jail tonight, we've got nothing on him, though I did see a guy dressed as a guard leave the van and go into the jail." Too bad Cho hadn't been able to see his face, but maybe surveillance cameras had; however, there was still the problem of McAllister finding out Cho's involvement if he showed up asking to see the videos. He sighed internally. One quandary at a time.

"We're just gonna have to work with what we've got," he said stoically.

Lisbon picked up her bag, giving her friend a brave smile. "Let's go then."

In Cho's car a few minutes later, Lisbon sat in the front passenger seat (while Rigsby graciously took the back seat) and called the number for Visualize that she'd found online. This time of night, she wasn't sure anyone would answer, but she said a silent prayer and listened as the phone rang four long times before a soothing male voice answered.

"Visualize. Come and see the future with us."

"Uh, yeah. I'd love to. Look, I know it's late, but I really need to speak with Bret Stiles. It's a matter of life and—"

"Mr. Stiles is in mediation right now and cannot be disturbed. Please give me your number and I will-"

"Please, just tell him it's regarding Patrick Jane. My name is Teresa Lisbon; I'm the Assistant District Attorney for Sacramento County, and it's imperative I speak to him right now. I uh, only need to ask him a question over the phone, and we can avoid all the inconvenience of bringing agents from the Californian Bureau of Investigation with me." Her heart pounded at her temerity, but when she glanced at Cho, she saw the normally grim line of his mouth twitch upward at the corners, and the ghost of a dimple appear for an instant, then fade away.

"One moment please."

Lisbon nodded in satisfaction. Sometimes she forgot that she did hold quite a bit of weight in the area; she just didn't like to throw it around unless she had to. She listened to the sound of pan flutes and harps for about two minutes before a proper British voice spoke her name.

"What is this about Patrick? Got himself in a pickle, did he?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. I was hoping you could tell me where McAllister might have taken him."

"Now how would I know that, Miss Lisbon? So many people believe that I actually _can_ see through the mists of time. I assure you, it's only a flattering fiction."

"Mr. Stiles, Patrick told me how he came to you for help. And now Red John knows what he was trying to do. I fear for his life. Please, you have to help me. I don't know where else to turn."

She couldn't hide the trembling of her voice, but fortunately, it seemed to do the trick. "There, there, Miss Lisbon. I'll do all I can. I have no idea where they might have taken Patrick, but I'm sure he'll turn up very soon. Leave everything to me."

"What? What do you mean?"

"You understand I do have to preserve some of my secrets. Just be patient and go about your business. All will be well. Have faith."

And the connection was broken. She stared at her phone a moment before glancing at Cho, who had easily heard both sides of the conversation.

"You tried," said Cho. "I'll drop off Rigsby at the office as planned, then help you get settled in at the safe house. We haven't run out of options yet."

Lisbon stared blindly out the front windshield. Have faith, Stiles had said. She supposed that's all she could do now.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane awoke to a throbbing head and a dry throat. He must have groaned, but the sound of his own voice seemed far away. He slowly opened his eyes, grateful he wasn't wearing a hood at least. He realized several things at once. He was zip tied to a chair, and he was in the same room he'd been in when he was kidnapped the last time. A hulk of a man with a bald head sat on a nearby white leather couch, playing a game on his cell phone, a gun on the glass coffee table in front of him.

"Oh, hey," croaked Jane. "Could I get some water? And maybe an aspirin? My head is killing me."

His guard didn't glance up. "Shut up," he said.

"What are the odds I wonder," continued Jane conversationally, ignoring the big guy's command. "Being kidnapped twice in one week. It's almost flattering."

His guard said nothing. "Tough crowd," muttered Jane.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him, and it seemed to stop his heart. "Where's Teresa?" he asked, looking around the room anxiously.

The man looked up at that, and actually grinned, his shiny bald head warring with his teeth for brightness. "You mean that fine piece of ass we threw out of the van?"

Jane literally saw red, and he struggled against his bonds. "She'd better not be hurt. Where the hell is she?"

"Cool your jets, Blondie. Don't make me taze you. She'll be fine— _if_ she does what Red John told her to do, that is." He touched a few buttons on his phone, then held up a video for Jane to see. It was Red John. His face was in shadow, but his voice was unmistakable.

Jane listened as he instructed Lisbon to get the charges dropped against McAllister or Jane would suffer the consequences. Of course, the killer still assumed she didn't know McAllister and Red John were one in the same. As the message ended, Jane felt a coldness seep into his veins. She would do what Red John asked to save him, he knew it in his soul, even though his wishes would be that she forgot about Jane and put that devil in prison where he belonged. _Dammit_.

"Make no mistake, he means business," said his guard.

He clicked off the video and resumed his gaming.

Like he'd just been splashed in the face with cold water, the video had suddenly restored Jane's wits, and though his head still pounded and he felt faintly nauseous, he knew he had to pull himself together and figure his way out of this mess. He studied the bald man sitting on the couch. There had to be some way to get to him. Bribery wouldn't do, he decided. The man was clearly devoted to Red John in a scary, cultish way. Jane's eyes rested on the man's sausage-like fingers. On his left hand, there was a bright white tan line on his ring finger. He'd only recently removed a wedding band. _That would do._

"Sorry about you and your wife," Jane said.

The man looked up at that remark in obvious surprise. "You don't know shit about my wife."

Jane shrugged. "True. But I'm betting there's been some recent trouble in paradise. The missus not like your crazy work hours? She doesn't get your devotion to your boss over her needs?"

All just educated guesses on Jane's part, but the man's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open slightly at his perception.

"Red John didn't mention you'd kidnapped a psychic, did he?"

The man relaxed again. "No such thing as psychics, asshole. Now shut up about my wife or I'll kill you myself, boss's orders or not."

Jane ignored the jolt of fear that came from the man's murderous expression, and pushed on. "Sorry if you aren't a believer, but I'd be happy to give you a bit of free advice to get back in her good graces." Behind his back, Jane began to twist his hands a little, testing the zip tie that bound his wrists to the chair. It was certainly tight enough, he realized in disappointment. Baldy acted like he was ignoring Jane, but Jane knew he was still listening raptly.

"Romance is the key, my friend. Court her all over again. Wine and dine her. She might act like things are over between you, but I'm sensing that that's not the case. She just wants to see you put forth a little effort, make her feel like you're putting her first. Fight for her. Fight for your marriage."

No response from his audience.

"Renew your vows. Take her back to the beach where you got married." The man looked up at that. _Bingo_. Jane tried not to smile as his shot in the dark hit its target dead on. He caught and held the man's eyes, his voice dropping to a soothing cadence.

"Make her remember when it was good between you, when you stood barefoot on the shore, the waves crashing gently in the background. The pull and push of the tide. The waves rolling in, and the waves rolling out. In and out…in….and…out…Can't you feel the rhythm? Like you're back there again on that warm sand at sunset. In and out. In and out…"

The man's eyes began to glaze over, and his phone slipped from his hand to bounce silently on the heavily carpeted floor.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane only stopped running when he came to an intersection, where he could see the street signs of the quiet residential area. He took out his phone he'd retrieved from Baldy's pocket, and prayed Lisbon would answer his call. She did, on the first ring.

"Patrick! Where are you? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm none the worse for wear." He closed his eyes against a sharp pain in his head and a subsequent waive of nausea.

He told her where he was, how he'd left his captor, still in a hypnotic trance, sitting in the chair he'd released Jane from, _his_ hands now bound behind him. It was funny how someone so muscular and imposing had had such a suggestible mind. But the trance wouldn't last for long, and, although Jane had taken the man's phone and both his gun and Jane's, he had no doubt Jane had only bought himself a little time. There'd been no vehicles parked in the house's garage, no cars on the street that fit any of the car keys on Baldy's keychain.

"Call a cab or an Uber, and come to me at my safe house," Lisbon suggested. "I'll call Cho and tell him what happened."

She told him the address she'd noted as they'd driven there earlier. It was a ranch style house built in the seventies in an older, somewhat shabby, though quiet neighborhood. Inside, however, the house was modernized and fitted with a state of the art security system.

Thirty minutes later, he was knocking on her door, and she used the security code Cho had left her to let Jane in. He nearly fell into her arms and she held him tightly to her body, both of them ignoring their various aches and pains in the joy of their reunion.

"Thank God," she whispered against his chest. He drew back enough to find her mouth with his. Their kiss turned instantly passionate with the emotion of their recent fear and relief, but then slowed to a gentle sweetness that brought tears to her eyes.

"I would love to do this all night," he said softly, "but if I don't sit down in a minute I might keel over."

She saw that sweat had gathered at his temples, and he'd turned decidedly pale.

She helped him over to the beige couch in the beige living room, then rushed back to the kitchen to make him some tea and toast. In the bathroom she was grateful to find a bottle of ibuprofen. When she got back to him on the couch, he was lying full length across the cushions, his eyes closed. She'd brought a cool, damp washcloth with her, and, after he roused enough to take the medicine, allowed her to wipe his face and rest it on his forehead. She sat on the edge of the couch beside him.

"I wish I could take you to the hospital," she said, "But Cho said to stay put till tomorrow. He's waiting for Brett Partridge to return home. He was driving the van tonight, apparently."

"Little weasel," muttered Jane, echoing everyone's earlier thoughts.

Lisbon smiled. "Cho thought he'd be easy to break in interrogation. We may not have McAllister on anything else at the moment, but we have two state agents who can identify that Partridge drove the van that abducted us. If we can get him to finger McAllister, that's federal kidnapping charges we can pin him on."

Jane opened his eyes, peering up at her hopeful expression. He reached up and brushed a lock of silky dark hair behind her ear. He noted with a frown the scrape on her temple, glanced down to see others on her arm.

"Baldy—the guy who was guarding me—said they threw you out of the van."

She nodded. "I'm okay. Better than okay, now that you're safe."

She bent and kissed him softly on the lips.

"You would have done what Red John told you, had the charges dropped against him for my sake."

"Yes," she said simply.

He was equally moved and annoyed. "Getting him out of commission would have been more important than saving me."

She held his hand tightly in hers. "I don't think so," she said with quiet vehemence. She bent to kiss him again, this time with a renewal of their earlier passion, but the whistle of the teakettle and the comforting smell of toast interrupted them.

"Stay here," she said. "Tea and toast will help settle your stomach."

He nodded, said dryly: "I don't think I could move if I tried." But when she rose, he still gripped her hand. She met his eyes, and he saw the intensity of his feelings reflected in hers.

"I love you," he found himself saying over the insistent whistle from the kitchen, but once the words were out, he was surprised at how right they sounded. He waited for her to chastise him that it was too soon for such emotions, for her to brush him off with the logic that it was only the recent traumas they'd both suffered, talking. She visibly swallowed, and he saw her alabaster cheeks color to a warm pink.

"I love you too," she whispered tremulously.

He squeezed her hand once more before he let her go to see to the kettle. Tea sounded heavenly just now.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane awoke in the night, briefly disoriented. He was breathing heavily, sweating beneath his suitcoat and the blanket Lisbon had thrown over him. He'd dreamt Red John had sliced Lisbon to ribbons, and he'd found her in her beautiful bed, the fine sheets soaked in her blood, the gruesome smile on the wall above her.

He sat straight up, the world spinning before he remembered where he was and he lay back down with a groan. On the coffee table beside him he saw the cup of cold tea and the plate of soggy, buttered toast she'd left for him. He must have fallen asleep before she came back with his repast. The house was dark now, save for a dim light in the kitchen.

"Lisbon?" he called softly. There was no answer, but he sensed nothing amiss.

He waited for the vertigo to subside before he attempted to sit up, more slowly this time. He drank the cold tea with a grimace, took a bite of toast, knowing that if he didn't get something in his stomach soon he might pass out. He chewed another few bites methodically, downed the rest of the tea. A few minutes later, he felt more like himself, his head now only a dull ache. He stood with a pleasing steadiness and padded in his stocking feet—she must have removed his shoes- down the hall till he found Lisbon.

She was asleep in a full-size bed in a spartanly furnished room, which he could only tell from the glow of the streetlight through the closed blinds. She was breathing deeply, safe in REM sleep in her exhaustion, and he quietly disrobed. He saw the dim shape of a gun by the bed next to her cell phone, knew he still had guns in his suitcoat pockets, and, feeling safe for the first time in days, he slipped naked into bed with her. She stirred a little but didn't awaken, and when he pulled her sleepshirt-clad back against his chest, cozy in the narrow bed, she snuggled into him with a contented sigh that made him smile. Nuzzling his face into her soft hair, he slept.

 **A/N: Thanks as always for reading. The conclusion is coming up next.**


	11. Conclusion

A/N: Well, this is the end, my friends. I think I've written around a hundred short stories and tags for this fandom. I've taken breaks from it, threatened never to write for _The Mentalist_ again, but something about this show keeps pulling me back. Well, I will probably continue to write as long as you continue to read. On to the conclusion, as promised, though be warned, the first part is Rated M.

 **Chapter 11: Conclusion**

Lisbon awoke suddenly in the night, a disturbing dream dancing on the edge of her memory. Something dark, frightening, but fortunately elusive. She was confused for a moment, but then she felt the warm hands sliding beneath her long t-shirt to cup her breasts, felt a distinct hardness pressing insistently into lower back, and she knew with a small smile why she had awakened. The subject of her dream forgotten, she turned in Jane's arms. They lay on their sides, facing each other.

"I'd say, 'not tonight, I have a headache,' but that should be your line," she whispered in the darkness.

She sensed rather than saw his grin. "You can't blame me; you were wriggling against me in your sleep. Not even a concussed man could resist that."

"Sorry," she said, not sorry at all. She slipped her hands gingerly into his hair, felt the tender lump on his skull. He flinched but allowed her exploration.  
"We should probably have taken you to the doctor."

"You first," he countered, remembering how she'd been pushed out of the van.

"No. It's just a few scrapes."

"And I just have a bump on the noggin. But talking about our health is _not_ why I woke you up. Don't worry; I'll be gentle with you."

"Please don't be," she whispered, before drawing his mouth to hers.

Her hands dropped to his shoulders, glided down his firm arms before they wrapped around her and she realized he was completely naked. She opened her mouth on a gasp of pleasure, and he deepened the kiss. Soon he'd divested her of her shirt and panties, his fingers making her ready while his hot mouth feasted on her breasts. Her heart beat wildly, her breathing fast and dizzying. She threw her leg over his hip, opening herself to him. They both groaned as he slipped easily inside.

He found her mouth again in the darkness, his tongue suckling hers as he moved languidly within her body. He was slowly driving her insane with his slow intensity. Hadn't she told him she didn't want him to be gentle? She wanted him to take her hard and fast, to wipe away their nightmares, to make them both ache for a much more pleasurable reason. She tried to increase the pace by moving her hips faster, but his strong hands came down to guide her back to his preferred rhythm.

"Relax," he whispered at her sound of frustration. "I want to savor this."

"You're driving me crazy," she said, feeling the perspiration gathering at her brow, feeling the slickness of his chest too, as she realized he was also fighting his instinct to take her quickly.

She heard the smile in his voice after he took a deep, shaky breath. "That's the idea. Just trust me and go with it. You'll be happy that you did."

And so she let him continue his maddening movements, but once she focused on the slow, smooth gliding of his body, a tingling surge of heat began to build deep inside of her. She held fast to his shoulders, and his grip on her hips loosened as she met each movement with equal intent. Their breathing synced, corresponded with the pounding of their hearts and the give and take of their bodies.

After several minutes she could no longer control her measured response, and she convulsed around him with a cry of pure ecstasy. He too had found his breaking point and he moaned into his release, rolling her to her back as he plunged deeply one last time. His body was heavy upon her, but she relished the closeness, the beating of his heart against hers. He was right: she was very happy she'd followed where he'd led her, and she wondered dreamily if it would always be this way between them.

"I love you," she heard him breath into her ear, just before she drifted off into the deepest sleep of her life.

Xxxxxxxxx

The phone woke Lisbon again sometime near first light, and she answered groggily.

"Partridge is dead," said Cho without preamble.

"What?" she sat up in bed, and Jane stirred where his head lay against her bare stomach.

"Cyanide capsule he'd hidden under his tongue. The second I asked him about his relationship to Red John, he bit down on it. Damn idiot; I would have given him a deal."

"Shit," she muttered, and by then Jane was sitting too, the sheet falling from his chest to pool about his waist. "Now what? The judge for sure is going to shut this case down and McAllister will be kept in the low security city lockup where he can come and go as he pleases, free to kill me or Jane or find another innocent girl."

"I sent Sac PD to the house where Jane was held last night and the whole damn place was cleared out. No sign of the guard. CSI is looking for DNA, but I'm not hopeful."

In the morning sunlight glowing behind the blinds, Lisbon could see Jane's bleak expression as he heard both sides of the conversation.

"I'm not the least bit surprised," Jane said so Cho could hear. Lisbon put the phone on speaker. She wondered what her friend would think if he knew Jane was in bed with her. She shrugged. Cho didn't strike her as one who would judge her for something like this. He'd know how traumatic shared experiences tended to bring people together.

"I'll be over in about an hour," said Cho, "soon as the morgue picks up Partridge. You two need anything by way of supplies?"

"No, we're fine. But I should get ready to go to court, don't you think? I expect a call from Ardilles any minute."

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea," Cho replied. "McAllister's going to expect you to move that the charges against him be dropped. Since he doesn't have Jane as a hostage anymore, it's a good bet that you'll be the one to pay the consequences if you cross him."

"I agree with Kimball," said Jane. "That's why I'm going with you."

"Well, that gives him back his leverage," said Cho, an obvious frown in his voice. "McAllister will have you murdered in the parking lot."

"Not if we're ready for it. Besides, no way am I twiddling my thumbs here by myself."

There was a brief pause as Cho considered his headstrong safehouse guests. If he put his foot down, they'd do what they wanted without him.

"Fine, but I'll be your escort. Maybe you two can draw out a couple more of Red John's minions."

"Good idea," said Jane.

"We'll see you when you get here," she said to Cho, and hung up. "You sure this is a good idea?" she asked Jane. "I'm not sure I like being the bait to catch a serial killer." His immediate answer was a brief but thorough kiss, then:

"Don't worry. I've got a plan."

She was almost too dazed to reply. "Of course you do," she said, but he wasn't forthcoming.

"You can have the shower first. Sadly, I noticed earlier that it's only big enough for one."

She grinned and rose from the bed, groaning as the abuse and passion from the last few days caught up with her. A hot shower sounded heavenly. "I'll take you up on that."

He watched her delectable backside as she made her way slowly to the en suite bathroom. When he heard the shower running, Jane got out of bed, slipped on his boxers and went into the living room where he found his discarded suit coat. From the inside pocket he removed the phone he'd taken from Baldy when he'd hypnotized him. He pulled up the record of the phone's previous calls, and brought up the most recent. He dialed the number on his own phone.

"Bart? How'd you get your phone back?" came the voice on the other end.

"This is Patrick Jane," he replied. "Tell your boss I'm coming for him." He disconnected, then called a cab. He dressed quickly, rummaged through the drawers in the kitchen till he found a notepad and pen. He scribbled a note to Lisbon and left it beside the bed along with Baldy's phone:

 _Teresa,_

 _This phone belonged to my captor from last night. I'm sure Agent Cho will make good use of it. I have some business to take care of. See you at the courthouse._

 _Love,_

 _Patrick_

 _PS: Please tell Agent Cho I've got a very important trick up my sleeve._

Lisbon would be royally pissed off at him, but this was something he had to do alone.

When he opened the front door to leave, he figured he had only about thirty seconds before the alarm went off, and he closed the door quickly behind him. His Uber was waiting for him, and he got into the backseat. He thought longingly of his gun on the coffee table in the safehouse, but where he was going, he wouldn't be able to take it anyway.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane had been a frequent enough visitor at the courthouse that the guards knew him at the Sacramento County Jail as part of the legal team of Thomas McAllister. He signed in and was scanned with the metal detector wand, instructed to leave his cell phone and keys with the guards. Of course, whoever was working for McAllister would be on alert for his arrival, and Jane knew he might not make it out of the place alive. But it would all be worth it in the end. Hidden inside the seam of his coat sleeve was a small recording device he'd bought when he'd gotten the bug detector. He was able to conceal its location when the metal detector wand hit on his watch.

McAllister was waiting for him in the small conference room reserved for inmates' attorney visits. He wasn't even chained to the table as per usual, which gave Jane pause, but he managed to mask his brief flash of fear as he took the chair across from him.

"And then there was one," said McAllister with a grin.

"It's going to be pretty hard to find a lawyer who'll work for you now; they seem to be dropping like flies around you lately."

McAllister shrugged. "Attorneys are a dime a dozen in this state; it's finding loyal ones that will prove difficult."

"I'm sure. From every lawyer joke I've ever heard, you'd be hard pressed to find many that would kill themselves to protect their client."

McAllister frowned. "What is it you want, Patrick, other than to threaten me to the guards?"

Jane stared at the man a moment, the startlingly blue eyes glimmering with barely controlled anger, despite the bland smile on his face.

"I want to cut the bullshit. I know who you really are, and I'm tired of the abductions and the blackmailing of people I care about. It's gonna stop, you understand me?"

McAllister chuckled, though without real humor; neither did he seem surprised that Jane knew his true identity. "Or what, Patrick? You're going to kill me? I admit you had me going there, pretending to pick the perfect jury for me. And my own attorney went right along with it. A shame what happened to him. But when you started sleeping with the prosecuting attorney, that sent up a few red flags. I certainly turned the course of things to my advantage after that, though, didn't I?"

"Maybe, but I know enough now that I can go to the Feds with my information. None of your local cronies will be able to help you out when you're rotting in a Federal penitentiary."

He raised an eyebrow at that, and Jane watched as he brought out a small carpet knife and began idly cleaning his nails with the sharp point. Jane's heart jolted painfully in his chest, and he knew that if he yelled for help, no one would come.

"You think my influence stops at the state line?"

"Well, I wasn't certain till now. But don't worry, the Blake Association will go down right along with you."

McAllister's eyes hardened. "Where did you hear that name?"

Jane shrugged with a nonchalance he didn't feel. "Maybe your people aren't as loyal as you think they are… _Red John_." Jane held his breath, waiting to see whether McAllister would jump up and slit his throat or confess to being a serial killer. But there was no turning back now.

"If I were who you think I am, it would be pretty stupid to provoke me this way, don't you think? Especially considering how the lovely ADA is still out there, unprotected as she is."

Jane forced himself to ignore his threats, and, looking McAllister straight in the eye, he began to speak softly, his voice almost soothing.

"I'm curious. When did you begin killing women exactly? When you were with Visualize, or before that? I'm thinking you started when you were a teenager, maybe with rape, because that's what your mother had done to you all your life. Maybe you didn't even mean to kill your first victim—some kinky strangling game that went wrong, I would bet. But you liked that feeling of control, that power you had over the weak, because you used to feel weak yourself, didn't you? You were scared at first, of what you'd done, of getting caught. But when you didn't, you brought a knife with you for the next time. Things progressed from there, and you grew bolder, honed your craft. Tell me, Thomas, was your mother a redhead?"

Before he could finish his last word, Jane found himself slammed against the cheaply paneled wall, Red John's blade at his throat. He felt a sharp sting as the knife drew blood near his jugular.

"Don't ever mention my mother again," he said through his teeth.

Jane knew that the only thing that saved him was the buzz of the door as it opened, admitting McAllister's new attorney. Instantly, the carpet knife disappeared, and the killer was back in his seat once more. Maybe this particular guard wasn't on Red John's payroll. Jane's hand went to his throat, felt the wet stickiness of his own blood. Fortunately, it was just a scratch, and he brought a shaky hand to his pocket for his handkerchief. Without another word, he brushed past the guard and headed for the exit.

"By the way, Patrick," McAllister called before the guard shut the door. "You're fired."

No one tried to stop Jane as he left, and he quickly retrieved his belongings and signed out.

Outside the jail, he leaned against the brick wall, breathing heavily, his body trembling almost uncontrollably while a cold sweat made him shiver in the warm morning sunlight. He hung his head in failure. Nothing he'd recorded was even close to a confession. He hadn't counted on McAllister having a weapon, though he should have, hadn't thought that he might not be cuffed to the table as he'd always been before. What was worse, now the killer knew for certain Jane knew his identity, knew that Lisbon was likely aware of that fact as well. He had to make it to the courthouse to warn her, to protect her. Maybe Cho would arrange for them to go into witness protection. He heard Bora Bora was nice this time of year.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon entered to courthouse, still angry at Jane for abandoning her at the safehouse, though worry now overrode her feelings of betrayal. He'd texted her saying he was on his way, but didn't reply when she'd asked where he'd been. She hoped he hadn't done anything stupid or dangerous. Or both. Cho stood right behind her as they went through security. He showed the security guard his CBI badge and got to keep his weapon, for which she was grateful.

Ardilles had called earlier, and he was already present at their table, given the unusual circumstances. He didn't want to help stave off any suspicion that anyone in the DA's office had been responsible for the deaths of _both_ the sheriff's attorneys, though from what he'd heard from his assistants, social media was already rife with speculation. Now, even if she'd wanted to, there would be no way she'd be able to withdraw the charges against McAllister. Her heart picked up speed as she pondered what this could mean for her and Jane's security.

Cho sat directly behind their table, and Lisbon and Van Pelt shared a meaningful glance: this was not going to be a fun day.

Jane made his appearance, and it took everything in her not to run to his side, sock him in the nose, then kiss it better. She frowned at how pale and drawn he looked, his eyes bleak, his clothes and hair unusually disheveled. He hadn't changed his suit, and she would bet he still hadn't showered. Relief was obvious in his expression when he saw that she was all right, that Cho was there. Jane took his reserved place behind the defense table, amidst the low hum that filled the packed courtroom. Media and curious citizens were there to see if there would be further drama to fill the gossip sites and Twitter feeds.

They waited for thirty minutes past the usual time before the bailiff came in. At that same moment, Cho's phone vibrated softly. Beside Lisbon, Ardilles also received an incoming text, as did a smattering of reporters around the room. Lisbon felt a hand on her arm and turned around to see Cho's unusually strained expression.

"I gotta go. I'll call you."

The bailiff called for silence, then he made a quick announcement. "Due to unforeseen circumstances, His Honor has notified me that the trial has been postponed. Have a good day."

The crowd erupted and Ardilles shoved his phone into Lisbon's hand. She blanched at what she read on the screen. When Lisbon looked over for Jane, she saw he had followed Cho out of the courtroom.

"I need to get out there and give a statement to the press," Ardilles said. "As the prosecutor of record on this case, you need to be there too." Ardilles used his phone to make a quick call, as she nodded numbly.

Outside the room, microphones were thrust immediately into Ardilles's face, rapid-fire questions pummeling him like baseballs. When he held up his hands, the crowd quieted.

"Like many of you, I've just gotten the news of Sheriff McAlister's death. I have no idea of the circumstances, but I will be sure our office gives another statement as soon as we know more. Now, I would appreciate your clearing a path so my associates and I can get out of here and find out more information for you. I'd also be grateful if you held off publishing any unwarranted speculation until all the facts are in. Thank you."

"Dear God," Van Pelt murmured beside Lisbon. She seconded that emotion.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Agent Cho!" Jane called the moment he stepped out of the courthouse. Cho turned around, just as his hand reached out to open his car door.

"I'm sort of in a hurry, Jane."

Jane caught up with him, slightly out of breath. "What's going on?"

"McAllister is dead. I don't know all the details yet, but he was apparently murdered in his cell."

Jane frowned. "I just saw him about an hour ago."

"In the jail?"

"Yeah."  
Cho's face turned grim. "Then you will likely be considered a suspect." His eyes narrowed on the Band-Aid on Jane's throat. "What happened there?"

Jane's hand went automatically to his neck. "McAllister nicked me with a carpet knife this morning. He would have killed me if his new lawyer hadn't come in."

"How the hell did he get a blade?"

Jane shrugged. "He's got friends in there, obviously."

"Then why didn't they protect him?" asked Cho. Then a thought occurred. "Did Bret Stiles do this?"

Jane's face went blank. "What do you know about Bret Stiles?"

"When you were abducted, Teresa told me all about him and Red John and Haffner. She figured I needed to know all of it if I were to help find you. If Haffner was working for Stiles, maybe others in McAllister's circle are too. I imagine he'd be pretty pissed off with McAllister if he killed one of his men, foiling his original plan to murder McAllister."

Jane nodded. "My money's on Stiles."

"You'd better steer clear of this situation, then, before someone figures out your connection to Stiles. Maybe you should go back to the safehouse. No one but me knows you and Teresa have been staying there, or that you've been involved in any of this. I'm just investigating a murder and a related suicide. I'll try to keep you and Teresa out of this, but you two need to lay low for awhile. Since you saw McAllister this morning, I'll have to question you for the record, but you were part of his legal team so that should cover your being there."

"Okay."

Cho looked around, noticed the sudden rush of people exiting the courthouse. Bad news travelled fast. "You shouldn't be seen talking to me, or Teresa, for that matter. It would be best to keep that relationship secret too, at least till this all blows over."

"You're right, of course. I'll see you later."

Cho didn't stick around long enough to see Jane trot back toward the courthouse. He had yet another murder to investigate.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Cho made it to the Sacramento County Jail in record time, Rigsby joining him at the rear entrance. They were hustled in quickly, then led to Sheriff McAllister's enclosed cell. Sacramento PD was there as well, two officers guarding the door. Nothing yet had been disturbed on the scene since a guard had discovered the body when he'd come to escort McAllister to the courthouse. The jailhouse was on lockdown, every prisoner accounted for in their cells, jail guards on high alert, monitoring every exit.

A police detective greeted Cho and Rigsby. "It ain't pretty, but I expect you've seen this before," he said grimly. He nodded and one of the officers opened the door.

The scene was indeed familiar, though McAllister's body was still warm, his open chest cavity seeping blood. Above his cot was the usual macabre bloody face, still wet in places, but with one notable difference from crime scene past: instead of a smile, the face exhibited an almost melancholy frown. McAllister's killer was sending a clear message. This wasn't the work of Red John, and only someone who knew the dead man's true identity would realize the irony of his mode of death. From what Cho could tell, McAllister's murder had been a duplicate in every detail of Red John's work in the past, save for that telltale scowl.

"Red John, isn't it?" said the detective.

"It appears so," said Cho. Beside him, Rigsby tensed. He of course knew the main difference, and was as shocked as Cho. Neither of them offered an explanation, though Cho had a pretty good idea who the real killer was.

"I thought the face was usually smiling," added the detective. "You think he's changing his m-o?"

"Looks like it," said Cho. "Is CSI on the way?"

"Yep."

"Get me the security camera footage, will you please?"

"Sure thing." The detective shook his head. "Jesus Christ. No one deserves to die this way."

Cho and Rigsby shared a knowing glance. They couldn't have disagreed more.

Xxxxxxxxxx

After Ardilles's quick statement to the press, everything became a whirlwind for Lisbon. She was still in shock after she and Ardilles arrived at the jail and saw Sheriff McAllister's body and the frowning face on the wall. She caught Cho's eye, and a world of unspoken words passed between them. Someone with a very macabre sense of humor had killed Red John, and they were both reasonably certain who that someone was. But the overriding emotion the friends shared was that of relief, that Red John's reign of terror was over. There would be no more innocent women murdered in this horrible way, and while Cho must leave the file on the serial killer open and unsolved, he would know that he need never add another sickening photograph to the pile.

Of course, there would be an investigation into the jail employees, and even into the DA's office, since they would have the most to gain by McAllister's death. Already the speculation had risen to a fever pitch, and Ardilles and Lisbon would have to do damage control for some time.

Cho had high hopes that he would begin to unwind the Blake Association's tentacles from around the justice system, maybe uncover more corruption, more workers on the take, as McAllister had been. He frankly wouldn't mind if more of them went the way of Partridge, saving him some work and the State of California money by giving themselves swift justice.

That afternoon, Cho called Jane into the CBI for questioning. Before he pressed the button on the video recorder, he showed Jane a picture of McAllister's crime scene. Jane looked at the image on the phone, noted the change of the usual calling card, but did not point it out.

"That's terrible," he said with a convincing shudder, lest someone was watching from the one-way window. But like Cho and Lisbon, in his heart he was rejoicing. Cho began to record.

"Did you visit Sheriff McAllister this morning at the Sacramento County Jail?"

"I did. I was his jury consultant, and I wanted to discuss what would happen now that both his attorneys had died…"

The questions continued for about fifteen minutes, before Cho felt he'd suitably covered all relevant information. Of course, he never mentioned Bret Stiles or Visualize, nor Jane's abductions or his involvement with Lisbon. Jane had his alibi in the checkout time on the jailhouse records, was seen personally by Cho at the courthouse soon after. The security video at the jail had been mysteriously wiped during the suspected time of the murder, and it was interesting that no one else had signed in after Jane had, not even McAllister's new attorney.

As Jane left the interrogation room, Lisbon stepped out of the viewing area. It had been she, Ardilles, and Rigsby watching from behind the glass. He'd been cool, calm, and confident when answering Cho's questions, even seeming to fear for his own life, since he was the sole survivor of McAllister's original legal team.

"The roof, eight o'clock," she whispered to him, just as Ardilles followed her out of the small room. Jane nodded and slipped out of sight.

Xxxxxxxxx

Lisbon met Jane on the roof of her apartment building with a warm hug of thanksgiving. They'd survived this; their lives, their reputations and presumed innocence still intact, at least for now. Cho would protect them as best he could, and they'd covered their tracks fairly well along the way. McAllister's death would be chalked up to another mysterious Red John victim, cleverly linked by Cho to Haffner and Partridge.

Jane hoped eventually he and Lisbon would be free to show their love for each other in public, and while he hadn't discussed the particulars with her, he had tentative plans to move his businesses to Sacramento. Things had happened quickly between them, and he was plagued with doubts that she would have second thoughts about their relationship. She'd said she loved him, and something told him Teresa Lisbon didn't use those words lightly. But she was also a woman with traditional values, and the risks she'd taken these last few days had been decidedly out of character.

"I can't believe this is really over," she breathed into Jane's neck. He kissed the top of her head, then pulled away to look at her in the faint glow of the twinkling rooftop lights.

"It's over for Red John," he said. "But I…I hope it's not over for us."

"For my part, it's not." And she pulled his mouth down to hers. After a few heated moments, they gently parted and he led her to sit together in the lawn chairs. He didn't let go of her hand, so happy was he to hear she still wanted to be with him.

She sighed, and he could tell she was still trying to make sense of the last several days.

"I know that what we did—what _Stiles_ did—was wrong. But I can't seem to feel guilty about it."

"It was wrong in the eyes of the law, Teresa, but Red John received the justice he deserved, you must have no doubt about that."

"But what gave _us_ the right to be judge and jury? And from what you've told me, Stiles has done horrible things himself. Where is the justice for those that he has wronged?"

"I'm not a particularly religious man, but I do believe that we all get what we deserve, if not in this life, in the next. Eventually, Stiles will pay, of that I have no doubt."

In the meantime, Jane had sent the old man a bottle of single malt scotch. Anonymously, of course.

"And what about us, then?" Lisbon's voice was trembling. "Will we get what _we_ deserve?"

"We did what we did for the right reasons." He touched the cross at her neck with the pad of his forefinger, then met emerald eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "I don't know if _I_ really deserve you, but I'm willing to take that chance. Are you?"

She smiled. "The jury's still out on that one. I'll need to kiss you again before I can give you my impartial verdict."

"Hmmm…Take all the time you need, Counselor," he said huskily, right before passion carried them both away.

 **THE END**

A/N: I appreciate all who read and reviewed this story. I hope you had as much fun reading as I did writing. Until next time…


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